A/N: Thanks again for continuing to read what is rapidly becoming my favourite fic ever to write although it breaks my heart sometimes. I think this is my favourite chapter so far. Hope you like it too.

Chapter 11 - Recollections

Sacramento.

13 months earlier.

They gazed into each other's eyes for seconds as he wiped her tears away gently, the walls they created to keep others out wholly demolished, a fragile bridge between them taking their place. In an attempt to rebuild hers, she drew back fully from him swiftly; embarrassed by the rawness of the emotions he'd just witnessed and cast her eyes to her lap again to escape his blue-green stare. She sniffed and pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand to blow her nose and regain control. "You'll talk to them now?" she asked quietly, her gaze still averted. "You'll get me out of here?"

When he hesitated she looked up at him again, saw uncertainty wash across his face, the regret of his promise. "You said you would," she said with a defiant tilt of her chin. "I need to get out of this room and get back to my life, Jane. I don't need to stay here. You hate hospitals, I know you understand. It's not like I need medical treatment anyway, I wasn't beaten-"

"Yes, you were. You have bruises, cuts and scratches, Lisbon. Not to mention what else..." His words fell off into silence and it was his turn to fail to look her in the eye.

Determined, "Barely any and only because I tried to fight back or escape. They never beat me just for the hell of it."

"No, they merely injected you with heroin day in day out instead. A wholly more civilised method of torture," he snapped, his tone harsh as he misplaced his anger and directed it towards her. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed out. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," she said. "I know you're angry at what happened and not at me. Now, please do whatever you need to do to get me discharged and get me something to write down my statement on. I want to do it now."

He nodded with a sigh. "All right. But what about the withdrawal? You're going to go through hell taking it on cold turkey like this."

She shrugged. "I'll deal with it when I get home. I'll get through it better there. Okay?"

He clicked his tongue as he pondered for a second. Then he sighed with a defeated fall of his shoulders. "If you're sure that's what you want. I'll...I'll go and organise it in a minute or two."

He nodded with a sad smile and turned his back on her as he looked out the window, placing his two palms flat on the windowsill. He looked to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry I ever came to the CBI. I should have never involved you in any of this. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get close..." He took a breath. Louder, "I should have found another way-"

"Jane, what are you talking about? What has your coming to the CBI got to do with this?"

He turned swiftly towards her, ignored her question, barely aware she'd asked one. "Did he send a message for me?"

She frowned. "What? Who?"

He mirrored her frown as he took a step towards her again. "Red John, of course. He was the one who took you." His voice battled between anger and pain as he pointed to her arms. "Who...who did this to you."

Her brain was still taking its sweet time in catching up to fully engage in intelligent conversation and her response was delayed as she continued to furrow her brow. Finally, "Why on earth would you think that?"

He stumbled back to his chair again and stared at her left arm. Equally as confused, "Tell me what happened to you."

She explained all she could remember from the first days of captivity, her memories increasingly sketchy as the days wore on and the timeframe all but nonexistent. She kept to the facts she remembered and left out the sense of abandonment and despair she felt with each passing day. Her gaze confined itself to her lap mostly, unable to look at him for much of the conversation as she recounted the details. He said little in response, prodded her gently only occasionally, and stopped when he thought she might become distressed. She knew he read more about her emotional state in what she omitted than in what she communicated.

He focused on her statement than pushing her into exploring the maelstrom of her feelings, or his own on having just being given the facts of her imprisonment. "So this...doctor...or whoever he was...he just injected you time and again? No explanation? No reasoning behind it? No name he called himself?"

She shook her head. "No. I asked, of course, time and again but...he wouldn't tell me a thing. He barely talked to me at all. None of them did."

Shame stopped her from telling him about the conversations she and the grey haired man had shared as she'd battled withdrawal time and again and the fact she'd finally submitted to her torturer's wishes. It wasn't as if revealing those facts would lead them to her captors any sooner anyway, she reasoned.

He could tell there was more she wasn't saying, something she was embarrassed at admitting to just yet. He would only coax her so far and let it go. He took her left hand gently again and turned it to the other side. He tapped the spot just above her wrist. "What do you remember about this?" he asked softly.

She stiffened immediately. "What? The needle marks, you mean? You know how I got those, Jane."

He shook his head. "Not the needle marks. The face there."

She gasped, "The fa-face? He scored a face into me-"

"No," he reassured her quickly. "Just drew a face with a red marker there like he did with that little girl at the cemetery that time. It was a message for me, to make sure I knew it was he who took you."

She frowned, her fingers itching to remove the bandages and see it for herself.

"It's gone now," he told her, "when the nurses cleaned you up I had them remove it."

"You think the same man who drugged me is Red John?"

"No. Only that he works for him. Lorelei told me I knew Red John, so the likelihood is that you know him too as we spend so much time together, wouldn't you agree?"

She frowned. "I guess-"

"Ergo, it's unlikely he'd put himself in front of you every day even with a mask over his face. If it wasn't his plan to kill you all along then he couldn't take the chance on you discovering his identity by voice...body shape...posture, etc. But you said there was a camera in that room, and that is who was watching you from another location, I believe."

It still didn't make sense to her. "I just don't think it was him, Jane."

He drew his head back from her. "Why not?"

She shrugged, "I-I don't know. Didn't...feel like him to me. And...why wouldn't he tell me if it was, even through the doctor?"

"Maybe he did. Maybe he hypnotised you as well as drugged you so you'd forget."

"No, it wasn't like that. That man never mentioned you at all. If he was a disciple of Red John he'd have talked to me about you. Asked me about Lorelei Martins and what I knew about what she'd told you, surely."

"From what you remember he didn't. But your memories are patchy at best, especially the latter days. And how do you explain his mark on you if it wasn't him?"

"I-I can't right now. But I think I'd remember if someone mentioned you no matter when it was, I wouldn't forget something like that."

He looked sceptical and she added, "And if it was him then why didn't he just kill me after he got whatever information I knew, assuming I told him what I do know, which isn't much? Why go to all this trouble and allow me to live? This...this just isn't his style."

He flexed his fingers together on his knees as he looked at them. "For you...for you, he'd make sure he did things differently. He wouldn't necessarily follow the same pattern he always has." His voice quietened further to barely a whisper. "And...nor would he necessarily want you dead either. Not yet."

"Why not?"

He licked his lips and brought his face back up to hers. "Because he knows...he understands that you're special to me, Teresa. He wanted to punish me for helping turn Lorelei against him, not annihilate me entirely."

She looked down to her hands, unable to cope with the array of emotions his words instilled in her. She wasn't ready to delve into that minefield in her current condition. Quietly, "Jane, can you...can you see about getting me out of here now? And I'd like to write everything I can remember down too. Maybe something else will come to me if I do that."

When he left the room he puffed out a large breath of air and closed his eyes as he put his back to her door. Lisbon's words as she recalled her torture would haunt him in his nightmares for a long time. She'd been clinical describing her ordeal and he understood the need for that currently, the need to detach herself from the trauma she'd suffered. It would only last so long before its long shadow claimed her.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" Van Pelt gasped as she left a seat outside Lisbon's room to rush to him. His mind elsewhere, he hadn't even noticed she was sitting there.

Jane frowned then followed her eyes to his hands. He'd forgotten about the blood on them. "Just a slight problem with the IV," he reassured her with a smile.

She shook her head, her anxious expression making it obvious he wasn't putting on a convincing show. "How is she?"

He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. "About how you'd expect, I guess. Emotionally she's..." He shrugged and took a deep breath. "But she'll be fine, I'm sure," he nodded, more to reassure himself than his colleague. "Just need to give it some time."

"Can I see her? Is that a good idea?"

"She wants to make a written statement so yes, go and do that with her. Just don't push her. Let her set the pace and talk about what happened as she wants. Don't worry about timelines or the like, just let her talk. Try not to show pity, you know she hates that. I've spoken to her but I'll talk to her again to get a clearer picture of events when she's feeling stronger. Right now...right now, just be her friend and listen. Okay?"

"Of course. What are you going to do now?"

He looked away for a second. "I said I'd get her released."

"What?! What about her treatment?"

"She wants it discontinued. Forthwith. She was quite clear on that point."

Grace glanced at Jane's bloody hands again. "Oh, crap. Does she have any idea how hard it's going to be getting cleaned up on her own?"

"I'm sure she does but she wants to do it this way anyway. It's her decision and we have to respect that, Grace."

"But-"

"It's what she wants. She lost control over her entire entity the past fortnight. She wants to reclaim it so right now so we do what she wants to help her do that. So if that's making a statement, going home or cleaning up by herself then we support her. All right?"

He returned thirty minutes later. Lisbon had fallen asleep and Van Pelt was sitting in the chair opposite her when he entered the room quietly. They nodded to each other and he gestured for her to follow him outside.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Fine, I guess. She was...standoffish mostly. But...well, that's Lisbon, I suppose but...colder than normal, more detached."

"Understandable. She give you a statement?"

"Yeah, but doesn't tell us much to help find them." She handed him a handwritten account from Lisbon that he scanned quickly. It largely mirrored what she'd told him and gave them nothing new to help identify her attackers. "God, Jane, it's just terrible seeing her like that and hearing her talk about-"

"Yes, I know," he nodded, cutting her off as gently as he could. He wasn't in the mood to cajole Van Pelt or listen to another account of Lisbon's torture, Grace could cosy up to Rigsby later for any sympathy she required.

"Is she getting released?"

"Yeah, they're preparing the paperwork now," he sighed.

"I don't think she should be in that condo by herself. Not right now. You think she'd let me stay with her, just until she's over the worst of it?"

He nodded with a smile. "I'll make her be okay with it. I'll get her set up there first, though. I've arranged for a security detail to keep watch outside her place. Just...just in case."

"Good."

He added sincerely, "Thank you, Grace. I know it's not going to be any picnic for you. If it's too tough we'll get some kind of rota going."

"I can handle it."

He smiled again. "I know you can but everyone has their limits. She's not going to be pleasant company when the withdrawal kicks in."

"I'll be okay." Concerned, "How are you holding up?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," he lied effortlessly with a smile.

Sacramento.

Present Day.

"Sleep."

He had her under in less than ten seconds and felt her fall forward toward his chest. He breathed in her scent and smiled as he allowed it to wash over him for a second or two. She still smelt like cinnamon, at least that was still the same. He pushed her back gently so he could look at her in the face but kept hold of her hands to stop her swaying.

"Lisbon, you feeling okay? You know where you are?"

It was only a light trance so she was practically lucid but just incredibly relaxed. He could have brought her under further but he didn't want to add to any trauma she felt if he pushed too hard, he wanted to make sure she still felt in control of the situation.

"Yes," she murmured. "And I'm in that damn room again."

"Okay," he smiled. "I want you to focus on the people you saw in here last time you were here."

"Three men. But they always wore masks. I never saw them."

"Maybe you didn't see their entire faces but did they wear long sleeves or short sleeves? You reported they were all Caucasian so some of their skin must have been showing. You reported their hair colours."

"It's all I remember."

"Just take your time, remember that nothing can harm you in here now but I want you to live in those details, focus on those glimpses you saw of them. I want you to remember the room then as you're in it now, as clear as you've seen it today, breathe in its smell, picture the white walls, gleaming and bright, imagine the gurney, the table."

She shook her head. "I'm...I'm trying but..."

"Bring your mind back to when you first saw those men. Later memories will be...corrupted because of the opiates in your system. Focus on the earlier memories."

He went on to ask about the man who injected her but nothing came that helped with his identity. A setback Jane was unhappy about. He wasn't sure how he fit into the piece, still - if he was the perpetrator in charge or just another hired hand. The fact Red John was not involved dismissed every pet theory he'd had initially so he had to start afresh.

He had the feeling she was holding something back with regards to that particular monster but his gut told him it wasn't his identity, there was no reason for her to refrain from revealing more about that. Instead, it was something she was ashamed to admit. He recalled feeling the same way when he'd first questioned her, that there was a truth she hadn't admitted to back then either. As she became increasingly flustered under questioning about him he moved on to the other men instead. He made a mental note to talk to her about the man in the white coat later, though. He would coax whatever it was out of her, just in case there was information that could help.

"Tell me about the guy you kicked in the face," he asked.

She breathed out with some relief and a smile made its way across her features that made him smile in response. "That was a good moment," she said quietly.

"I'm sure. What did he look like?"

"Red hair, skinny, short...about five six, no more."

"Did he say anything when you whacked him?"

"No. I told you they..." She frowned, her words trailing off.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"He...he swore at me. A few times actually when I fought back. I...I forgot that."

"Understandable that he would. Accent?"

She furrowed her brow further before relaxing it again. A small smile. "New Orleans."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's...pretty specific. Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. He sounded...sounded just like a guy I hooked up with there one Spring Break years ago. Wasn't him, of course...but his accent was the same."

Both his eyebrows shot up. Maybe she was more in a trance than he realised for her to so easily reveal that particular nugget of information that he could use against her in the future. He smiled, "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"Good. Anything else about him you can remember?"

After a few seconds where she screwed her face up she shook her head.

"That's okay. It's more than we had. Let's move on to the taller one. The one you thought was in the army. Now, remember him clearly. Any accent?"

"He never spoke."

"You're certain? Think hard."

She was quiet for a second as she did so then shook her head. "No. I-I definitely can't remember him speaking at all. It was...unsettling that he never made a sound."

"That's okay. We got something on the other one-"

"Wait," she said, her voice picking up speed. "He had a tattoo."

"A tattoo? You're sure? I remember recalling I thought it strange he didn't. Most veterans have one at least."

"It's on the left side of his neck. I...I can see it clearly now. At least...half of it...the other half is hidden under his shirt. It's a set of dog tags, Jane...I can only see one of them, though, the second one is under his collar, I can just see the corner of it."

"Dog tags? You're sure?"

She nodded. "Yes...and...and there are initials on the one I can see."

His voice picked up speed. "What are they?"

She smiled. "J-M. I'm absolutely positive."

He smiled in response. It was a very good lead. After a few more questions where no new information came to her, he tapped her shoulder to bring her out of the trance.

She opened her eyes. "Tattoo's a good lead, isn't it?" she said, matching his thoughts. She let go of his hand and took a look around the room again. "Can we get out of here now? I don't want to spend another second here more than I have to."

They parked up at a diner a few blocks away. They sat at a booth by the window and Lisbon watched the traffic outside. "I was no more than two miles away from headquarters," she said quietly with a shake of her head. "It's hard to imagine that, even now."

Jane nodded, looking at the table. "I actually drove past that building once during that time," he said. "Drove right past it when you were inside and being subjected to what that bastard..."

He licked his lips and exhaled.

She looked back at him. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault?"

He raised his head, shot her a smirk. "You're really asking me that question? You might have had a point once upon a time but I don't think you have a great deal of solid footing now where-"

She waved off his comment. "Fine. You've made your point."

They sat in silence until the waitress deposited a piece of pie between them with a wink, shortly followed by their two cups of tea.

"Thanks for the pie, Jane." She shoved a piece of crust stuffed with blueberries into her mouth. "I thought I wouldn't want to eat after but..." She shrugged, "guess facing your demons makes you hungry."

He sipped his tea and dug a fork into the pastry with a devilish wink. "Do you mind?"

"I got used to you eating my food a long time ago," she said with a small smile.

He grinned as he ate a chunk. "God, that's good."

"It's not bad," she admitted.

"As well as finding delicious pie, I'd say it was quite a productive morning, wouldn't you say?"

Impassively, "Tattoo's a lead of sorts, I suppose." The drive to the diner had only allowed her time to think about the leads she'd remembered, the tattoo being the more significant one. She knew what would be required of her next and it tarnished the feeling of triumph she had felt.

"Tattoo's a very good lead, Lisbon. One we can follow." He pointed his fork at her before he cut off another piece of pie with it. "And that, my dear, is a cause for celebration," he added, his voice muffled as he shoved his fork into his mouth.

"Why...why did I only remember that tattoo today? Why didn't I remember it back then?"

He swallowed his bite and shoved the plate back towards her again to tuck in. "I'm guessing because you weren't in that room back then. You were missing the stimuli you needed to recall details more clearly, its smell, seeing it all somewhat more lucidly. Plus, you were..."

"Half out of my mind at the time," she finished for him.

"Hmm. Well, I wouldn't go that far but that would explain why you allowed me in your bed, certainly."

She coloured slightly. "From what I recall I didn't give you a whole lot of choice in the matter."

He grinned widely. "I had choice enough. But you did make some pretty persuasive arguments, I'll agree to that."

Through another blush she rolled her eyes at him and watched the lines in his face disappear and a relaxed smile brighten his complexion instead as he drank his tea. She sipped her tea slowly and sighed, shaking her head at him with another eye roll.

"I can't do it with you, can I?" she said finally. "As much as I try."

"Do what?"

"You know what. Pretend. Act...normal...average, cold, whatever. You were right in Maine. I was hiding there. Hiding who I really was. And you know why, don't you?"

"Of course. Because you hate who you see when you look in the mirror. The mask makes it bearable to act in public. Not for you, you find it impossible to see anything but anger, shame and guilt inside of you. You do it for them, the people around you. Allows you to interact with others without them either pitying you or fearing you."

She nodded. "Sounds familiar. No wonder you saw through it so easily."

"Indeed. But do you know what the real truth is, Lisbon? The one that I still struggle with but am learning to accept gradually?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me."

He leant forward and pinned her with a piercing stare. "Sometimes we're the worst people in diagnosing who we really are. Sometimes it takes someone else to look at you to view your whole self. Holding a mirror up to yourself only achieves a flat image in reflection, it makes it impossible to view all sides."

She raised an eyebrow. Her tone dripped with sarcasm. "You taken up pop psychology since we saw each other last?"

He smiled. "My point is that you saw me for something more than I saw in myself for years. Just as I see in you now."

A beat passed as she considered his argument.

Then, dispassionately, "You see who you want to see. You see her. You see the woman you used to know."

She looked out the window to her side again, her voice almost a whisper. "She died in that room, Jane. Just like Jessica did. She's been gone a very long time. I tried to be her again...I thought I could be..." She shook her head, "But I've since accepted that I'll never be who I used to be. Some experiences change you forever." She stared at him again and spoke louder with conviction. "You, of all people, know that's true."

He looked to the inside of his cup and bit his bottom lip in thought. As he looked up to answer, her face was set in grim determination. She said, "But it seems you'll have your way, after all. I know what I have to do next. And so do you."

He nodded, relieved at her words but had to make certain she wasn't making her decision in the heat of the moment. He needed to be certain this was her choice, it wouldn't work if she felt backed into a corner by him to make it. "I could have Van Pelt check out the tattoo databases we have on file at the CBI for you. You've given us enough information to get some matches with any luck," he reasoned. "Doesn't mean you have to go back there. You could still be on a plane back to your humdrum life in Maine this afternoon."

She licked her lips as she shook her head. "You knew once you got me back in that room again I wouldn't be able to leave Sacramento until I saw this through, didn't you? And to do that it includes facing the team again. And I better do that sooner rather than later before I lose my nerve."

"I wasn't sure what you'd decide if I'm being entirely honest. You're much harder to read now. Haven't quite got the knack of it...not yet. But yes, I hoped you'd feel that way, Teresa."

She nodded. "I might not be her anymore but I'm still pissed as hell about what those bastards did, you were right about that. So let's catch these sons of bitches and make sure no one else has to die. Let's make sure they've taken their last life."

He leant back in the booth, the cup at his lips. He smiled. "Are you quite sure she's dead? Because that speech sounded a lot like a pep talk a certain CBI agent called Teresa Lisbon would have given if she were still alive."

She slipped out of the booth, ignoring his statement. "Come on, drink up, let's go."

He smirked, "Yes, ma'am."