A/N: Well, here it is, the final chapter. I hope you enjoy how I wrap things up. The tone does go a little angsty for a bit, but I had planned that particular scene from the beginning. Thanks again for all the support and kind words regarding this story. I really appreciate you!

Chapter 10: Rocky Road

"Mr. President," said his secretary the moment Jane arrived back at the White House. He'd been to a party fundraiser, and all he wanted to do was kiss Charlotte goodnight and call Teresa. He hung his overcoat up on the hook just outside the Executive Residence. "You have a visitor waiting, sir, in your private sitting room. Mr. Mashburn approved her admittance."

Jane frowned. "Who is it, Brenda?"

The woman lowered her voice. "It's Agent Lisbon, sir."

Jane's eyes widened, then his smile stretched from ear-to-ear in delight, and he practically trotted down the wide hall. Before he could fling the door open to the sitting room, Mashburn stepped out. He must have been entertaining their guest.

Mashburn wasn't smiling, and Jane suddenly realized that Lisbon's visit might not be all that he had hoped.

"What's going on, Walter? Is Teresa okay?"

"Yes. But she is obviously here for more than just a social call, though I couldn't get it out of her; she insisted she needed to talk to you personally. She looks pretty serious, so prepare yourself."

Jane felt his face go white, all kinds of break-up scenarios flitting through his head.

Mashburn glanced at the closed door. "I'll give you two some privacy," he said gravely.

"Thanks, Walter."

His friend nodded. "If you need to talk later, you know where I'll be."

Jane patted Mashburn on the upper arm in passing, and after a quick knock on the sitting room door, Jane pushed it open. The moment he saw Lisbon, he forgot Mashburn's dire warning and crossed the room in a few long strides.

"Teresa," he said hoarsely.

She'd barely had time to stand before he took her into his arms, squeezing her tightly and trying to absorb the heady sensations of everything at once—the softness of her woman's body, the scent of her hair, the sound of her excited breathing over the pounding of his heart.

He found her mouth and ravaged it passionately, somewhat desperately. It had been almost a month since he'd been able to do this, and he had a lot of time to make up for.

Lisbon allowed herself to kiss him back without restraint, trying to forget for a moment the gravity of her visit. He released her mouth but hugged her body to his.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair.

"I missed you too."

He held her hands and they both sat on the leather couch where they'd played video games with Charlotte a month before.

"As happy as I am to see you," he said, meeting her solemn eyes, "I have the distinct impression this isn't just a surprise booty call." He smiled a little at his own teasing, and she did too in spite of her extreme trepidation.

This was going to be even more difficult than she'd thought, Lisbon realized. He was so obviously delighted to see her, but she wondered how he'd feel after her news.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's a bit more than that," she told him. Her brow furrowed, and she looked down at their joined hands, a hard lump in her throat.

"Bad news is best just spitted out, like spoiled milk."

His smile had dimmed, and he patiently waited for her to speak. The thrumming of his pulse gave him a heady, jittery feeling, like he'd mistakenly drunk a cup of strong coffee.

"It's about your wife," she said, bravely meeting his eyes.

She felt the tension in his hands, actually saw it tightening his jaw and shoulders.

"Go on," he said carefully, without any betraying emotion.

"The CBI has identified her killer." She slowly let out the breath she'd been holding.

His hands gave hers an involuntary, painful squeeze, before he released them and stood.

"Who is it?" he ground out. She noticed he'd clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"Red John."

His eyes became saucers. He cocked his head. Had he heard her right?

"Red John," he repeated dully.

"Yes. Since his capture, we've been slowly cross-referencing his DNA to unsolved murders in California. Angela's was a match."

"Rape has-has never been his MO. And there was no bloody smile." His voice was strained, barely recognizable.

"I know. But the results were double checked. His DNA was a definite match to the evidence we found on her body." She reached for the large shoulder bag at her feet and withdrew the file. Wordlessly, she offered it to him. He looked at it, but didn't take it. Instead, he turned from her, and after a moment, to her horror, she saw his back start to tremble with emotion.

She tossed the report on the coffee table and went to him immediately, walking around to stand before him. His face was contorted into a silent mask of pain.

Without a second thought, she held him.

She felt his body shake for exactly one minute, felt the warm wetness of a teardrop upon her neck. He gripped her tightly, his breath convulsing in one deep sob that tore at her heart just as brutally as Red John's knife.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, his outburst came to an end, and he stepped away from her, reaching into his suit coat for a monogrammed handkerchief.

He dabbed at his eyes, wiped his nose, and put the linen cloth away again. He gave a brief sniff, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said. His usual confident timbre had returned, and he was the president once more.

"There's no need to be." She took his hand again, led him back to the couch. He slumped tiredly against the seat back, still holding her hand.

"Who else knows about this?" he asked, tenting his other hand over his closed eyelids.

"Minnelli and Cho. The lab only knows its subjects by number, so there shouldn't be a leak there. Minnelli thought I should inform you first, before we give the results to the DA's office."

He opened his eyes, understanding the weight of what she and her team had done. They were trying to save him from the public spectacle of having his wife's murder splashed all over the tabloids as well as every news outlet in the country, and yes, even the world. He thought of Charlotte. What would it serve to have her know additional horrible details of her mother's murder? Then again, Jane had nearly gone crazy with the knowledge that her killer was still out there, perhaps killing others, perhaps waiting for a moment to kill him or Charlotte too.

But now Lisbon was telling him not only the identity of Angela's murderer, but also that the man was already in custody awaiting trial. Angela's name would be added to the list of murder counts pending against him. If Red John were convicted, he would be paying for her death in the most public way possible.

"I want to see him," said Jane suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

"The DA?"

"No. The murdering bastard who killed my wife."

She was startled by his demand, and the implications and ramifications of such a request began to swirl in her mind. She understood why he wanted this. Red John had killed some of the CBI's best agents while they pursued his case. Lisbon had spoken to the serial killer herself after his arrest, had demanded, off the record, that Thomas McAllister look her in the eyes and admit to what he'd done. It had been a cathartic experience, facing the man who had haunted her worst nightmares. Without lawyers or recording devices, Red John had gladly described in detail what he had done to her friends, had relived the pleasure the killings had given him.

She had wished she'd brought her weapon with her into the interrogation room, and in the heat of her interview would have gladly gone to prison herself for murdering the psychopath; the man had a sinister way of messing with your head. But Cho had held out his hand for her Glock before she'd gone in the small room with Red John. Her colleague's foresight had probably saved her career.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said to Jane now, remembering how shaken she had been by the experience.

"Maybe not. But I need to know why."

She shook her head. "Knowing why won't bring you any comfort, Patrick. Trust me on this."

"That remains to be seen."

She knew then he would not be dissuaded, and besides, he was the president; he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

She squeezed his hand. "Okay. I'll do whatever I can to help you. But how will you explain why the president is speaking to a suspected serial killer?"

His mouth formed a humorless smile. "I'm the tough-on-crime president, remember? This is just…research."

They both knew if the press found out there would be more questions than he could avoid. So he would do his best to avoid the press.

"My visit must be on the stealthy side," Jane continued. "Too bad my Santa suit's still at the cleaners."

She didn't laugh at his half-hearted joke, but she tenderly kissed his cheek, then laid her head tiredly on his shoulder.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charlotte was delighted Lisbon had flown all this way to see her father, who had been moping around lately like he'd lost his puppy. But the girl sensed there was something heavy going on between them, something that warranted the serious light in his eyes, despite his trying to shield her with his usual smile.

"What's going on?" Charlotte asked suspiciously, after hugging Agent Lisbon in welcome. They had come together to her bedroom to bid her good-night.

"I have to make a trip to California first thing tomorrow morning," he told her.

"What for?"

"It has to do with the uh, task force."

"You're lying," Charlotte said evenly. "Dad, I'm nearly eighteen. I can handle whatever you can."

Jane glanced at Lisbon, who shrugged her slim shoulders. It was obviously up to him what he chose to impart to his daughter.

"And since you are almost an adult, you'll understand that sometimes we have to have patience. I'll fill you in as soon as I can."

She frowned, not liking this answer at all. She tried her luck with Lisbon. "Is everything all right between you two?"

Lisbon's smile was genuine. "Of course. This has nothing to do with anything personal, I promise you."

"Yes," Jane agreed, taking Lisbon's hand. "Teresa and I are very happy to see each other, no matter the circumstances."

Charlotte watch the loving looks the pair exchanged, and she relaxed somewhat.

"Good news. Because I was about to hit you upside the head if you'd done something to screw this up, Dad."

Her father chuckled. "And had that been the case, I would surely have deserved it. But no," he said, glancing once more at Lisbon. "I don't think I've screwed anything up yet."

Lisbon smiled. "No, not yet," she agreed dryly.

Jane hugged his daughter, bidding her an early goodnight.

"I should only be gone a day or two. Walter is going to kill me with the schedule changes, but I'm afraid this is something that can't wait."

"Well, whatever it is, I expect a full report when you get back," she ordered.

He kissed the top of her head.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, and his heart squeezed at the thought of keeping that promise.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

He made love to Lisbon in his own bed, careless now of what anyone might think. He knew she must feel his desperation, must feel the need to reconnect with her in the most fundamental way possible. She let him take her completely, seeming to know instinctively that he needed to selfishly find his pleasure, to drive into her body almost roughly, mindlessly. It didn't stop her from coming undone beneath him, however, her tremors of ecstasy triggering his own.

Afterwards, they lay on their backs on the soft sheets, the perspiration cooling on their skin, bare chests rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of their hearts.

She felt rather than saw his intention to apologize. She covered his lips with her fingers.

"Don't," she whispered in the darkness. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

She felt his lips purse lovingly on her fingers, and she caught her breath in surprise when he brought them inside his mouth, felt the rasp of his tongue against the sensitive flesh, felt the renewed stirring in her blood at the surprising sensuality of his action. He released her fingers with another kiss on their tips.

"I'm falling in love with you, you know," he said, his voice sounding almost amused by the admission. "I know it's a hell of a time to tell you this. It's probably too soon, and maybe even incredibly inappropriate, given the circumstances, but I have learned the hard way that you never know if you'll have another chance with the people you love."

Her stomach clenched, her heart skipped a beat.

"And I have no idea what tomorrow will bring," he finished, lacing her damp fingers with his.

When she remained silent, Jane smiled. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know the truth of how I feel."

She wanted to say something, she really did, but the lump in her throat prevented her, as did the metal band she could feel every time his left hand held hers.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They left for California the next morning, Jane, Lisbon, an insistent Mashburn, and a Secret Service contingent. It was still dark outside, and since no one was expecting the president to leave at such an ungodly hour, there was no press corps waiting, and Jane didn't invite any of them to join them on Air Force One. Minnelli had made arrangements for Thomas McAllister to be transported to the CBI headquarters in Sacramento, with the hope that it would be easier for the president to visit there than where the accused had been held in the Sacramento County Jail awaiting trial.

Without explanation, Minnelli had cleared the entire building, save Lisbon's team, and the heavily armed state police escorted the shackled accused serial killer into a CBI interrogation room. They didn't remove McAllister's restraints, and the police bound his legs to the heavy wooden chair.

On the other side of the one-way glass, Cho, Lisbon, and Minnelli crowded in to watch the proceedings, the president and Mashburn joining them. Outside, Jim and two other Secret Service agents stood beside the state police. The president would be quite well protected.

Jane appeared visibly shaken at his first look at Red John in person, and Lisbon's hand moved to rest on his arm.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered.

"When's my lawyer getting here?" McAllister suddenly asked, seeming to look directly at them through the opaque glass.

"This isn't a legal proceeding," said Minnelli through the intercom. "We have someone who would like to speak to you on a personal matter."

McAllister grinned. "Someone want my autograph? I get a lot of that lately."

"Sit tight, Mr. McAllister," replied Minnelli. He looked over at Jane.

"Mr. President, I understand your desire to do this, but I really wish you would at least have one of my people in there with you."

Jane continued to stare inside at his wife's murderer. "Jim will be in there; I'm sure it'll be safe enough."

"Patrick," said Mashburn. "I have to concur with Agent Minnelli. This is a really stupid idea. You open yourself up to all kinds of lawsuits, public ridicule-if it gets out you were here talking to this man without his attorney present."

"No one outside this building will ever know," replied Jane confidently. "There will be no proof he even left the county jail, isn't that right, Agent Cho?"

"Yes, sir," Cho replied.

"See?" said Jane. He took a deep breath. "Now, let me get this over with."

He met Lisbon's eyes. "Be careful," she said, and Jane knew she wasn't just cautioning him about his personal safety.

"I will."

The state policemen outside the interrogation room door were completely astonished to see the President of the United States emerge from the observation area, though Jane had to hand it to their professionalism at hiding it so quickly. Jane nodded to them, then waited with pounding heart as the officer opened the door for him.

"No matter what happens, don't let anyone in here," he said softly to Daniel and the other men who would stand guard.

"Yes, sir."

Jim preceded Jane inside.

When the door closed behind him, the rest of the world fell away, and Jane's entire focus was on the deceptively ordinary looking man chained to a chair. Jim stepped back into the shadows of the room to watch unobtrusively.

"Well, Mr. President," said McAllister, pleasantly surprised. "I wondered when this day might come. I'd stand, but…" he looked down at his restraints and shrugged apologetically.

It was confirmation enough for Jane: this was indeed the man who had killed his wife.

There came upon him now a sudden calmness. His heart rate slowed, and he pulled out a chair opposite Red John. He sat down without saying a word. He stared into the man's eyes for a full minute, gauging him, his old skills at a cold-read coming back to him. McAllister did not flinch, and actually seemed amused at Jane's evaluation.

"I suppose you've come here for some answers," said the killer. "I don't blame you, really. While I personally enjoy a good mystery, after ten years even I would get a bit…annoyed."

"I would just like to know why," said Jane finally, pleased his voice sounded strong. "Why my wife?"

Red John sat back in his chair, his expression becoming nostalgic. "Now that's a funny story, actually. You see, I had originally come to Malibu to see you."

"Me?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. President. Of course, you weren't the president back then. No, far from it. I'd seen your ad when you were engaged in your former profession. You'd built up quite the reputation around the area, as a gifted psychic and hypnotist. Many claimed you were so accurate in your predictions that you had to be the real deal. As one dabbling in the art of mind control and manipulation, I had to check you out for myself. I had this elaborate plan to test your mettle; then, if you were as good as people said, I thought perhaps we could find a way to work together."

McAllister's smile was genuine, and Jane stiffened in his chair as he tried to push away the beginning effects of shock.

"Before all that, however," McAllister continued, "I decided to observe you going about your daily business, see how you operated. It was quite by chance that I noticed your beautiful wife. Angela was sure an early riser, wasn't she? I know this because I watched her every morning for a week. She'd go out onto your back deck overlooking the ocean, carrying her morning coffee. She would only wear a light robe, if I recall. Yes…I remember this because I could see the outline of her lovely naked body against the morning sunlight. I admit I became instantly obsessed. She was a beautiful woman, your wife."

Inside the observation room, Lisbon cringed, her eyes on Jane's pale face.

"Get him out of there," said Mashburn beside her in agitation.

"No," she said. "Wait."

"So you stalked her," Jane was saying.

McAllister laughed softly. "In a manner of speaking. But I also enjoyed talking to her."

Jane's eyes widened. "You met her?"

"Yes. I happened to bump into her at the Farmer's Market. We had quite the discussion about delicata squash. I have to say, you picked a winner there, Mr. President. Smart, funny, beautiful. And such a good mother. It was too bad you didn't fully appreciate her."

Something in Jane snapped. He stood up from his chair so quickly it toppled over, and he shot around the table, his hands lunging toward the restrained man's throat.

"You fuckin' bastard," Jane said through clenched teeth, his face contorted into pure rage. McAllister gave a strangled laugh as Jane's hands constricted more tightly until the man's eyes began to bulge.

Jim was there instantly, attempting to pull the president off the murderer without hurting his boss. Jane let go at last, then stood away from the table, breathing heavily, his face florid. He glanced at the glass door where he could see Lisbon and Mashburn insisting they be let inside. His guards were obeying his orders, however. Jane held up his hand, knowing his audience was seconds away from ending this confrontation.

"I'm fine," he called. "Just give me a minute." He saw Lisbon's stricken face, and he pled with her with his eyes. She relented, then pulled Mashburn back into the observation room.

McAllister's laugh was hoarse now, but no less filled with humor. He twisted his head to ease the painful crick there, though his bound hands were unable to reach his neck to rub where Jane's red finger marks remained.

"You know, if you showed that same spirit when dealing with the Russians…"

"So you followed her to the beach that night," Jane said, keeping a safe distance "Did she see you?"

"Yes. I pretended I jogged too, having told her I'd just moved in down the beach, but I knew by then her nightly ritual. We jogged together for a spell, chatting amiably. She was surprisingly trusting. And then, well, one thing led to another."

McAllister leaned as far forward across the table as he could, as if speaking conspiratorially.

"She was so wonderfully responsive, Mr. President, but I guess you know that. And she smelled so great. Coal tar soap and lavender…"He closed his eyes in fond remembrance. "Hmm…"

The madman's words struck him like physical blows, but this time Jane controlled himself. He regarded McAllister dispassionately now, seeing him for who he was, and not the monster he'd imagined. He was just a man. A psychopath killer, but still a man. And he would never hurt anyone again.

"I have to say, Mr. President, I've enjoyed watching your meteoric rise to power. You went from a charlatan of the worst kind to a charlatan of the best kind. I admire that, truly. And in a way, you owe it all to me. So if you think about it, I made you, didn't I?"

He smirked arrogantly.

"Is this what you've been missing? Acknowledgement?" asked Jane. "You're an evil, sexually perverted sociopath. How's that for some acknowledgement?"

Red John nodded. "I guess I have to own that. But I admit I wouldn't mind at least a little show of gratitude for my part in your new place in the world."

Jane stood up straighter now, remembering who he was. He was a man who had faced down powerful heads of state as calmly as he had an adolescent's tantrum. He couldn't deny that Angela's death had led him down the road to becoming a better man, but it was Charlotte that had kept him that way, and now he had found Lisbon, a woman whom he had no doubt would compel him into becoming even greater still.

"Here's a bit of irony that a clever man like you will appreciate," Jane said, his voice dangerously soft. "I will do everything in my considerable new power you helped me achieve to see that you pay for what you've done, not only to my wife, but to every person you slaughtered. If I have my way, you'll be put to death, and when your corpse is moldering in the ground, I will never think of you again."

Jane nodded to Jim, and they moved to leave the room.

"It was nice meeting you, President Jane," McAllister called after him with ominous intent. "Give my regards to Charlotte. She's turning into a beautiful young woman—almost as lovely as her mother."

Jane didn't even slow his stride but moved past his guards to meet Lisbon and Mashburn.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, her brows knit with concern.

Jane looked down at his hands, flexed them, still able to feel Red John's warm skin beneath his hands.

"No," he said. He met her eyes. "But I will be."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's come to my attention, through the California Bureau of Investigation, that the accused murderer, Thomas McAllister, also known as Red John, was a match for DNA found on my wife's body."

The cameras were rolling outside the California state Capitol building, where Jane stood behind a presidential podium atop the white steps. Cameras flashed at his surprising statement, and the reporters began asking a million questions at once. Jane raised his hand for silence.

"That's why I'm in California today, to insure that additional charges are filed against Thomas McAllister and that his trial proceeds in as fair and speedy a manner as possible. I have great faith in the local District Attorney and in the people of the state of California that justice will be done for my wife, as well as the others Mr. McAllister is accused of murdering. Now, since I am both a part of the government and an interested party in this case, it is probably best that I make no further comments on this matter. Thank you."

He moved away from the microphone to where Lisbon and Mashburn stood waiting for him. He ignored the shouted questions about Lisbon's presence and others about his wife and Red John, but in a final, blatant statement that he wouldn't be able to deny later, he took Lisbon's hand and walked with her back into the Capitol building.

"McAllister is back in the county jail," said Mashburn. "Nothing has been leaked so far about your visit."

"It won't be," Jane said, still confident. He smiled and his eyes found Lisbon's. He trusted her and her team to keep his secret.

"We should be getting back to DC," said Mashburn. "I'm sorry, but there are some meetings you skipped out on that we can't postpone any longer. The limo's waiting in back of the building."

"Fine." He looked at Lisbon. "Walter is a relentless taskmaster."

"He's just doing his job," she said.

Mashburn grinned at Lisbon. "Thank you, dear lady."

"Ride with me to the airport?" Jane invited her, choosing to ignore Mashburn's flirtatious tone with his girl.

"I would love to," Lisbon said wryly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mashburn rode in the SUV escort vehicle to allow Jane and Lisbon privacy in the presidential limo. Once on their way, the press cameras off the vehicle, Jane pulled her into his arms.

He'd barely had time to breathe since his confrontation with Red John, and he allowed the feeling of calm to settle over him, the relief flooding through his body like warm water.

Angela could finally rest in peace now, he thought. Her murderer would be punished, and he would no longer lie awake at night wondering what more he could do to give her the justice she deserved.

"How are you?" asked Lisbon quietly, her head resting on his chest, her hand in his.

"Better," he said honestly. "Relieved."

She could imagine so. "How did Charlotte take the news?"

He had spent a tearful half hour on the phone with his daughter before the news conference, happy and saddened to tell her that they had found the man who'd killed her mother.

"I hope he rots in prison, thinking every day how he's paying for what he did to Mom," Charlotte had told him with typical teenage vehemence.

"California has the death penalty," Jane had said gently.

Charlotte had been quiet a moment, before she said softly: "Dad, killing him won't bring Mom back."

"No," he'd told her. "But it will sure make me feel a hell of a lot better…"

"She was very…grown up about it," Jane said to Lisbon now. "Angela would be so proud of the young woman she is becoming."

"She would be proud of you too," Lisbon said. "You have fought for her, every step of the way."

Lisbon was once again holding the hand that wore his wedding ring, her emotions a tangled mix of love and gratitude, trepidation and sadness. His wife would be even more strongly on his mind now, she thought, ashamed of her jealousy. She thought of the envelope in her pocket, the one marked, Department of Justice, Quantico.

Her acceptance letter. She had picked it up from her desk where the mail guy had left it.

"I'm glad you were here with me through all this," said Jane, bringing her hand to his lips.

"Me too."

She lifted her face for his gentle kiss, her fingers slipping into his hair.

After a few heady moments, Lisbon pulled away. She looked up at Jane, and his handsome face gave her courage. She took a deep breath.

"What you said yesterday—"

"That I'm in love with you? Yes, Teresa, I really meant it, despite the bad timing."

She blushed. "I'm glad. Because I have a decision to make. Before, I didn't think I needed a…a commitment from you. But it turns out, I do."

She took the letter from her inside blazer pocket. The envelope had already been carefully slit open, and Jane looked from it to Lisbon, a quiet happiness filling his eyes when he saw the return address. He pulled the letter from the envelope and scanned through it.

"You can start your training in two weeks," he said in pleasant surprise.

"Yes."

He smiled. "Maybe the fish and the bird can be together after all."

"Is that what you still want?"

Jane didn't miss how her eyes darted involuntarily to his ring. He resisted touching it self-consciously, didn't let on that he'd noticed her glance.

Apparently, Charlotte wasn't the only one who was troubled by his wearing it.

He set the letter on his lap to take both her hands in his.

"It is what I want. You needn't have any doubts about me, Teresa. There is something incredible between us that I'm not willing to let go. Finally knowing who killed Angela was the second sign that it's time for me to get on with my life. Meeting you was the first."

She saw the sincerity in his blue-green eyes, and Lisbon decided in that moment that, ring or no ring, this wonderful man was worth taking a chance on, was worth moving clear across the country, living completely out of her element. Sure, there would be more than your usual hardships—the press, the danger, the social and political obligations- but then what would you expect when you were dating the most powerful man in the world?

"What do you say, Teresa," Jane prompted at her silence. "Are you ready to share that life with me? To fly out of your tree, little bird, and meet me on the shore?"

Her answering smile was slow and filled with dimples.

"I'd be honored, Mr. President."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Epilogue

Two weeks later, President Jane asked his daughter to join him in his private sitting room. She'd brought a carton of ice cream with her, along with two spoons. They sat together on his worn leather couch, Charlotte's legs tucked comfortably beneath her.

"What's up, Dad?" she asked, removing the lid from the carton. "I figured you'd be nervous about Teresa coming tomorrow, so I brought reinforcements."

Jane grinned at her, and happily took her proffered spoon. He'd taught her long ago that everything seems better with ice cream.

"More excited than nervous," he replied, gesturing with his spoonful of Rocky Road—Charlotte's favorite. "I just wanted to reassure you that no matter what, you are still my number one girl."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, her mouth filled with ice cream.

"Oh, please, Dad. I'm not five years old. I've got my own life now; you need to have yours."
"Don't talk with your mouth full," he said automatically. "Well, be that as it may, I want you to know that I will always make time for us, for doing things like this."

"I know you will."

Jane nodded, misty eyed, and reached his spare hand into his suit jacket pocket. He withdrew a small, square jeweler's box and held it out to her.

"What's this? It's not my birthday or anything," she said, taking his gift. She handed him the ice cream carton and opened the velvet box. Her eyes widened at the familiar gold band she saw there.

"I don't get it. This is your ring."

He nodded. "You were right when you said it was high time I took it off. Now, I want you to have it, to save it for the man you marry one day. I think your mother would have liked that idea."

Charlotte smiled. She took the ring from its satin nest and held it up to the light. Since he'd never taken it off in her presence before, she was surprised to see there was an inscription. It had been considerably worn by time and his finger, but she was just able to make out the tiny script.

Why are you taking your ring off?

Charlotte laughed. "Mom was pretty cool."

He grinned fondly.

"Yes, she was."

"Teresa's pretty cool too, though. I hope you're not feeling guilty about this," she said, carefully returning his ring to the box.

"I was, but then I realized I was finally able to give a good answer to that inscription: I'm taking it off for a worthy woman like Teresa. I'll always love and miss your mother, but I love Teresa too. I can't let her go…"

Charlotte scooted closer to her dad on the couch and picked up her spoon from the slowly melting ice cream.

They both ate silently for a few minutes, each mulling over the past and looking toward the future.

"Does Teresa like ice cream?" Charlotte asked.

Jane grinned, his spoon poised in the air. "I sure hope so," he said, "or the deal's totally off."

Charlotte smiled and fought him for a choice bite in the carton. "That sounds like one of your best policies yet, Dad," she said dryly.

"Hmm," said the president, triumphantly chewing his captured marshmallow.

THE END

A/N: Thanks again for reading. I hope I am inspired to write more fics for The Mentalist, although I admit I am disheartened as the series ends. The next few weeks are going to be tough. We need to all hang in there together!