A/N: No Lisbon in this chapter I'm afraid but I hope you like it anyway! And thanks to all of you who've earned this story over 300 reviews so far. I'm so pleased you're enjoying it. I'm having a blast writing it.

Chapter 11 - Introspection

Jane settled himself in his favourite leather armchair in his home office with a heavy sigh, exhausted after the long drive home from the Red John crime scene he'd witnessed. Before he left Sacramento he'd visited a Funeral Director and made arrangements for Melissa's burial. The gentleman in charge, a tall waif of a man with grey eyes to match his grey hair had greeted him with the sombreness he expected, his handshake stiff and well practiced to those in the first throes of grief. He'd patted Jane's hand with his left one as they shook hands, professional sympathy firmly in place as he looked into his eyes with a consoling nod. Jane had played along for the other man's benefit at first; performing as the widower he supposed he was now though the term sounded alien and all too respectful for his liking.

But by the time he'd left the premises the mortician's patience had run thin as talk turned to caskets and flower arrangements and Jane had snapped repeatedly at him to suggestions provided, instead his hand whipping through pages of well worn display books to find the most expensive but least garish items. Much to Jane's morbid amusement he found the entire experience both surreal and ridiculous. Melissa was dead and no amount of lilies and mahogany coffins would make it otherwise. Childish, he knew, and unnecessary too to rattle the older man but he couldn't help himself pierce the pompous facade put on show in front of him. He'd done much worse in his life up to now, after all, he reasoned to himself.

Now sitting in the room with its wood panelled walls lined with bookshelves and a solid oak desk at its centre he realised this room had been his sanctuary more and more as the years had passed, a place where he could escape the sham of the marriage he had. This was purely his space where no mementos of Melissa were present, not even a picture frame with her photograph in it at his desk. The rest of their home was decorated with soft furnishings and home ware chosen by her and bombarded him at every turn. Here there were no such reminders, just silence diluted with the sound of the ocean in the distance. He checked his watch and saw both hands sat around two. Too early for a Scotch he told himself as he eyed the half empty bottle on a shelf to his right, mostly drunk by his agent when he visited to arrange his diary. Though he was never one to find refuge in the bottle, the appeal of an alcohol induced haze lost on him. The few times he'd succumbed to it only served to reduce the sharpness of his mind and for a man who needed constant control over his emotions it had only left him feeling more exposed than comforted. Besides, he was so used to living with his demons by now he sincerely doubted alcohol could provide escape from another one joining them.

So instead he closed his eyes and shifted his body further into the deep cool leather, too lazy to move to the battered leather couch at the other end of the room, his usual spot to take forty winks if he was home during the day. Less than five seconds later the phone on his desk sounded. He grunted as he opened his eyes again, leaning forward to pick up the receiver. It was only when it was in his hand he noticed the fourteen answer phone messages blinking in red beside it.

"Paddy, where the hell have you been?" his agent barked down the phone.

Jane rolled his eyes and eyed the bottle of Scotch again, immediately thinking a drink might not be such a bad idea after all. Eddie Larson's high pitched and panicked voice sounded like nails down a blackboard to him and he could picture him, red faced and sweaty on the other end.

"If you don't recall, Eddie, my wife was just murdered a couple of days ago," Jane bit back. "I had things to do. What do you want?"

Larson swallowed nervously on the other end. His tone turned low and sympathetic. "Right...right...of course. How you holding up?"

Jane smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on his desk. Larson was a hell of an agent but a terrible actor. Ignoring his feeble attempt at what he supposed was compassion he asked again, "What do you want, Eddie?"

"Have you heard the news about Paul Henson? Word is that that serial killer Red John-"

"Yeah, I heard. What of it?"

A moment's silence on the other end followed by a short chuckle. "How'd you hear? That little feisty cop lady tell you? You know I think she's a little sweet on you, Paddy. She's a little pushy for my liking but I reckon you could-"

"Jesus, Eddie, if you don't get the point I'm hanging up. And don't talk about her like that. Or any other woman, come to that, when you're talking to me."

"Jeez, who rattled your cage? Okay, okay. Press are all over this. They want a statement from you. Especially with this Red John angle now too. A few TV spots, full page magazine spreads...I know it's terrible what happened to Melissa...a real tragedy...but life goes on, you know and..."

Jane exhaled as he listened to his agent try to turn the death of his wife into a public interest story, trying to keep his temper in check. As he droned on and on about five figure sums and how her murder could open up a whole new career path for him Jane closed his eyes again, allowing the words to wash over him. His anger dissipated slowly as he continued to listen to the other man. He could hardly fault his agent for taking advantage of the situation he'd been handed, in his place he'd most probably do the same. He'd come close enough and had barely batted an eyelid cheating recent widows out of their life savings. And Larson knew their marriage was a disaster and that Jane would hardly be heartbroken. It wasn't as if she was ever the love of his life.

An image of a teenage Teresa Lisbon immediately flashed through his mind, their last conversation before they'd left each other and the parting gift she'd handed him. No longer listening to his agent he opened a drawer in his desk and fumbled inside until he felt the object he was looking for. He pulled out the Saint Christopher medal and held it up to the light, turning it between two of his fingers and making it appear and disappear in his hand. She'd given it to him to remind him there was a good person inside him. He'd pretty much proved the opposite was true in how he'd lived his life since then. He'd long stopped carrying the medal around with him as it only served to remind him of that fact.

He wondered, was it too late to change the person he was now?

"No," he heard himself say to Larson, cutting him off mid flow.

"No? No to what?" he replied. "Which offer, I mean?"

"All of them."

Silence greeted him and Jane smiled in return, a small piece of his heart warming at the other man's reaction.

"All of them? Look, Paddy, I understand...this is a testing time for you...but-"

"I'm not going to profit from her death, Eddie," Jane said resolutely.

"You're...you're not...You'd be helping people, Patrick. Hearing your story will resonate with those who've lost spouses-"

"Oh please, Eddie. Give me some credit, will you? You know damn well Melissa and I were not in love with each other. We barely tolerated each other by the end. Stop trying to sell me the crap I come up with myself."

A heavy sigh reverberated on the other end. "Fine. I'll leave it for now. Maybe after the funeral-"

"I won't change my mind. And just in case some photographers happen to be at it, purely by accident, of course, you'll be fired if one photo appears of me beside a gravesite after it. Do I make myself clear?"

Larson mumbled through gritted teeth, "Yes, crystal."

"Good. Then clear my calendar. I'll be in touch."

"Okay. How long do you want me to clear it for?" the disgruntled voice replied.

"Indefinitely."

As he heard his agent take a sharp intake of breath he slammed the phone down before he could hear his no doubt less than cheery response. Jane stretched his back and smiled as he looked at the medal still in his hand. "Well, that's a first step," he said to himself, feeling lighter than he had in years. He looked around the four walls surrounding him. "Now, what next?" he added quietly.

When he parked up his silver Porsche in the mud ridden clearing he absentmindedly thought he should have changed vehicles to something less conspicuous. At least the night gave him some cover so gawkers (or worse) would be less likely attracted to his car.

He gazed at the once familiar scene in front of him, a fire lit in the middle of a mismatched array of trailers and caravans, people in plastic folding chairs sat around it warming their hands. As he walked closer he heard them talking, laughing, arguing, all the sounds he'd grown up with. A wave of nostalgia hit him squarely and he stopped for a moment and listened while his presence remained undetected.

The trailer park in Carson Springs was as close he ever got to a hometown growing up. He'd come here on a spur of the moment decision to escape Malibu but now he wasn't so sure it was such a good idea. His car might not be the only thing lucky to escape unscathed. He'd left this world a decade ago and never looked back. He'd abandoned the relationships he'd made here for a life in showbiz. Some were necessary where he had no regrets. But others...others...

"You going to stand there all night or you going to grow a pair and say hello," a booming voice said at his side.

He turned around with a start and a grinning Pete Barosky laughed in his face. "Well, well, well. The Boy Wonder returns. Took you long enough, Patrick."

Jane smiled at his old friend, more of a father figure than his own dad ever was and puffed out a breath in relief. "Pete," he replied with another smile, "since when can a guy your size creep up on people?"

"When those people are deciding whether or not they're too chicken to face me after ten years," Pete replied quickly, his tone more serious but still with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Touché," Jane said with a shrug.

Pete chuckled again and came closer until he stood opposite Jane. For a second Jane prepared himself for a punch in the face. But instead, without warning, the bigger man engulfed him in a bear hug that took the air from his lungs. Jane reciprocated as best he could although his feet were dangerously close to being lifted off the ground. Afterwards Pete took a step back while he allowed Jane to regain his breath then looked him up and down appraisingly. Finally he shook his head at the younger man. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Jane laughed and brushed down his silver satin suit, fixing his pale blue tie. He hadn't even thought to change his attire so hastily had he made the decision to revisit his old friends. "You don't like my style?" he grinned before pointing to Pete who was wearing a beer stained white vest with a pair of suspenders holding up well worn brown trousers. "And since when are you the fashion police?"

"Hey, this is a classical style, Patrick. People have been wearing what I wear for years."

"What you mean is that you've been wearing it for years," Jane responded with a smile.

"Better that than look like an idiot like you in that get up," Pete came back with immediately.

A second later Pete's expression turned solemn. Quietly, "I saw the news. Heard about your wife. How you doing, Patrick? Me and Sam were hoping you'd stop by."

Jane sighed and allowed his guard to fall in the presence of his friend. "To be honest, Pete. I haven't got a clue how the hell I am."

Pete nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, Sam will be pleased to see you. She's made her famous rabbit stew."

He was lambasted then hugged tightly by Sam when Pete brought him inside their trailer. She quickly dished up three bowls of stew as they sat around the table. Jane removed his tie and jacket so looked more like the teenager they'd known in his white open necked white shirt. It just happened to cost about four hundred dollars more than the ones he used to wear when he performed as 'Boy Wonder'. For a few minutes they ate silently and enthusiastically, dipping homemade bread into the gravy as they did so.

"I'd forgotten how good this was," Jane enthused, breaking off another piece of bread from the loaf in the centre of the table. "You should market this recipe, Sam."

Sam raised an eyebrow in response. "Not the only thing you've forgotten about for years." While it was obvious she was pleased to see him again Jane saw the hurt in her eyes too that it had taken a tragic event in his life to reconnect with them again.

"Sam," Pete scolded his wife quietly. "Cut him some slack, he's just lost his wife."

"It's okay," Jane said at once. He put his spoon back in his bowl and looked at them both. "I'm sorry...I...needed to break away-"

"We were never against that, Patrick," Sam interrupted. "You finding your own path. But..." Her words trailed off and she got off the seat as she averted her eyes. She began to wash the dishes with her back to them so they wouldn't see the tears in them.

Pete shrugged to Jane. "Women, eh?" he smiled, nudging him on the shoulder with his own.

"Yeah," Jane nodded with a sigh and a feeble attempt at a smile. He looked over at the woman furiously scrubbing a pot and bit his lip. "Mind giving us a minute?" he asked Pete softly.

"You sure? She has a hell of a right hook if you don't say the right things."

"Then I better make sure I say the right things," Jane smiled.

"Yeah, you better," Pete said as he glanced at his wife and then Jane again with a new firmness in his expression.

After Pete excused himself to feed Daisy Jane brought the empty bowls to the sink and picked up a cloth to dry the dishes. For a few seconds neither of them spoke as she handed items to him to dry. "I know I should have visited," Jane said finally. "I said I would when I left but-"

"You got caught up in the razzamatazz. I understand that, Patrick."

"So then why are you giving me such a hard time, Sam?"

She let go of a breath and faced him. "You know Pete and I never had kids. Well...you felt like..." She shrugged and planted a smile on her face. "You're right. I shouldn't be mad at you for making your way in the world. I'm proud of you for that, I really am-"

"I wouldn't be so proud if I were you," he said with a sigh. She looked at him quizzically and he explained, "I've done some terrible things, Sam, since I left. Conned, swindled people-"

"You did all that when you worked here, what's the difference?"

He smiled and chuckled softly before he looked down. "The difference was then I could blame my father. But when I left I turned right into him."

"I'm sure that's not true," Sam said quietly, touching his arm.

He whipped his head up and locked eyes with her. "Believe me, it is. I was just more successful at it than he ever was. I think that's...well that's partly why I never visited. It was easier that way so I didn't have to be reminded of where I came from."

He saw the hurt in her eyes again and added, "I'm not saying it was all bad. You and Pete...if I hadn't had you in my life back then I don't know how I'd have coped at all. Especially after-"

"That little girl broke your heart," Sam finished for him.

Jane exhaled a long breath and shook his head. "You remember that, huh?"

"Hardly likely to forget it. But I wouldn't say we were of much use to you after that as much as we tried to get through to you. You were a pain in the ass moping for a whole month after we left Chicago. Couldn't get two words out of you. You just came here, ate your food, gave us a few bucks and left. Your father was in his element, though, never seen you graft so hard for him."

She frowned, "You know, thinking about it now you were different after that. That's when you really started to drift away from us. Before you left." A single hollow laugh escaped her. "Huh, never really thought about it like that before now. Imagine that."

Jane nodded, conceding she was right. He'd never considered splitting up with Teresa and turning his back on Sam and Pete were linked events until this point either. He'd become withdrawn from them after he left her in Chicago, the closest people to him, telling himself he had to work harder to escape his father's influence as soon as possible and spent less and less time with them to make that happen. He forewent any type of personal relationships to attain that goal. Including the one he had with his two oldest friends. Having his heart broken almost destroyed him and he hardened himself against ever feeling pain like that in his life again. In turn his other emotions followed suit. Whether it was falling in love or relying on other people he'd made sure he was purely self sufficient from that point on.

"I'm sorry," he said to Sam again with absolute sincerity.

She nodded and flashed a smile in his direction, evidently pleased that she saw some sort of revelation in his visage. "Let's leave it in the past. I'm too old to bear grudges."

He encased her in a hug and kissed her cheek. "You know we're not that far apart age wise," he chuckled as he released her.

"Yeah, but I'm a damn sight more mature than you ever were."

"Can't deny that."

She gestured for them to sit at the table again. Jane was pleased to find less tension prevalent in the air this time. "So, Patrick," she started with genuine interest, "tell me all about Melissa."