Author's Note: This new season might be the death of me.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and would not be foolish enough to claim to.

In the end, because he didn't feel up to traversing the whole distance on foot, Jane managed to catch a city bus back to his neighborhood and then walked the rest of the way to Mrs. Ruskin's home. That morning, he had left before the sun or Mrs. Ruskin had a chance to rise, leaving only a note to say that he was meeting a friend for breakfast.

Now, he approached the front door with trepidation, wondering what he would find after the previous night. After those sobs that ached in his ears even now. However, like every afternoon when he came in the door, he could immediately smell the aroma of afternoon tea. He hung up his bag and tilted his head to hear the clatter of china held by aged and unsteady hands. Following his nose and the sound, he entered the sitting room on light feet, trying to keep his shoes from squeaking on the hardwood. He wanted to make an assessment before he was seen.

Mrs. Ruskin was on the settee, saucer held in one hand, teacup in the other. Outwardly, she was as composed as ever. Her white hair was pinned up, all except for a wisp over her right temple that added just the right touch of softness to her. Her blouse was neatly buttoned at her wrists and throat, her skirt straight. Even the shawl over her shoulders was neat. Impeccable was the word that came to mind. There wasn't even a hint of the weeping widow from so early in the morning. Not a trace of the tears he'd been witness to.

Carefully, Jane approached. It was strange. He'd almost expected some kind of sign that she had cried herself into sleep the previous night. Some way to tell. Body language didn't give away everything though, he supposed.

"Patrick dear, there you are." She smiled gently, the look creasing the entirety of her wrinkled face. "Please, take a seat. How was school?"

He almost questioned what she meant before he remembered where he was supposed to have been for the past few hours. "Oh... fine. It was... fine." Careful of the delicate china teapot, he poured himself a cup and took a seat upon the other couch to her right. Unconsciously, he sagged once seated, feeling weight settle down on him. Now that he was here and the adrenaline of earlier had faded, coupled with the fact that Mrs. Ruskin appeared really no worse for wear, he suddenly felt exhausted. It had been ages since he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep.

The calming effects of the tea certainly didn't help him fight off the sensation.

"Are you sure?" The old woman was peering at him, eyes sharp. That should have been his first warning, as she hadn't looked so keen in all the time he'd known her. "You seem quite tired."

Rubbing at one eye, he blinked through the fatigue, attempting to focus. "I, uh, had a restless night. My day was just long. School stuff, you know?" He felt like he was missing something, maybe something important, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Strange. Very strange."

At that, he looked up at Mrs. Ruskin fully, taking in the tilt of her head with a brain ready for sleep and too slow to catch up in time. She was looking at him like he'd been caught. Wait. What?

"Because you know, your school called."

The air fled from the room in a hurry.

So did sleep. Jane stared at her wide-eyed for far too long, giving himself away for sure, but he couldn't process what she had just said. She knew? How- Damn. In his rush to get to Lisbon, he'd forgotten to take care of the school. That stupid attendance thing!

Mrs. Ruskin smirked at him, making his blood go a little chill. "I thought that might interest you."

"I- Grandmother, I just-"

"I know that I am an old lady, Patrick, but give me a little credit, will you? I'm not a fool."

That stung, in a way he'd never felt before. "I... would never say that." His sincerity must have gotten through to her, because he watched her beady blue eyes soften slightly toward him.

"Where did you go? What was so important that you felt it necessary to skip your classes?"

He swallowed. How was he going to get out of this one?

"Are you bored there? I can put you into another, nicer school. You were the one that insisted on public schooling."

"No!"

She frowned at his outburst.

He moderated his tone. Okay. Part truth, part lie? Would it work? "A-a friend. Was in trouble."

The old woman was more perceptive than she appeared. Her look turned suspicious. "What sort of friend?"

Now this was definitely more than he could handle right now. Not after the afternoon he had had. However, it wasn't as though he could just walk away. That would be rude, and if there was one thing the high-brow class despised, it was rudeness unhidden by sweet words. Panic was no reason not to be civil. "Just a friend." He tried to shrug it away.

Mrs. Ruskin raised an eyebrow at him, crinkling up her forehead. "This friend wouldn't happen to be a girl, would it?"

Uncomfortable, he shifted.

"That's a yes." Her voice slid into a sigh.

How was she suddenly so perceptive? Was he just so off his game that she could read him like an open book? It was ridiculous.

"Patrick."

He looked into her fierce gaze and shrunk a little under it.

"I may not be your mother, but if you think I'm going to ignore my responsibilities toward you as your guardian simply because I'm old, you're mistaken." Slowly, she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip. It rattled as she set it back on the saucer and then rested the tea on her thigh. Even ancient as she was, she held the elegance of her class in her very cells.

Part of him was impressed. Not that he should be thinking about that right now while his head was on the chopping block, but he still was.

"Skipping school is not acceptable. If I find you have repeated this offense again, you will be grounded. Understood?"

How would she manage to enforce that? It was a fleeting thought, offhand really.

As though reading his mind though, Mrs. Ruskin looked at him as sharply as before. "I can easily hire someone to do what I cannot."

Again, he swallowed, nodding in understanding. So this was what it was like to have a parent with actual rules and the guts to follow through with them. The feeling was bittersweet.

"You're sixteen Patrick, old enough to know a little responsibility. Being interested in girls your age is perfectly acceptable, but if I find you are treating anyone flippantly or with disrespect- we will have words. Is that clear?"

Wait a minute, she thought...

Jane turned red and sat up straight. "I w-would never-"

Her raised hand stopped his words. "I'm not accusing you of anything. Simply making things plain. You are my grandson." Her voice caught slightly and he frowned. "My only living relative. I would no sooner have you be harmed as to harm someone else."

Now she didn't think he could take care of himself? Or that Lisbon would- "Teresa's not like that." He almost clapped a hand over his treacherous mouth.

"Teresa?" She looked taken aback, rolling the name over like she was examining the girl herself, turning the s into a z just as he had. "A beautiful name. Matching?"

Great. Now she was asking if Teresa was beautiful to match her name. How could he lie about something like that? Hunching down into his seat again, he mumbled, hoping her old ears wouldn't be able to properly make it out. "Yes."

She nodded. "As I thought." After another thoughtful sip of her tea, she spoke. "I think we can let this slide, just once. You've never misbehaved before, after all."

Jane looked at her hopefully.

"However, in return, I want to meet this Teresa."

His stomach fell to his knees. "What?"

"You heard me. Winter break starts the day after tomorrow, you can ask her over that evening."

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped at the look of steel she was giving him. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands, Jane slumped. Oh what a mess his life had become.

:)

School was harder the next day without Lisbon there than Jane could ever have thought it would be. Everything seemed different. What had once been an opportunity for him to feel like a normal kid and meet others his age, now felt as hollow as a bass drum and not half as entertaining. Without the chance to spy emerald eyes and dark hair around the corners of his day... what was the point? He couldn't even remember why he'd wanted this in the first place without her here.

The very halls almost reeked with banality. The hours, especially during the classes he normally shared with her, were impossibly long. He kept expecting to feel a foot settle against his spine, or hear a whisper of her voice from behind him, and when this ghost of Teresa didn't come, he ached all the more for it. He'd welcome delusions right now.

He might just be going insane. A beautiful kind of insanity. With the name of Teresa.

His life had come to revolve around her in such a short amount of time, it made him wonder if 'soulmates' could actually exist, before he remembered that he didn't really believe in souls. Or, at least, he never had before.

Lisbon had a way of somehow turning science on its head around him. Like creating vacuums when she entered a room. Was it really just him or was everything duller too? It had to be him. It was so hard to pay the teachers any attention at all like this. Even they felt far more boring than ever before.

Jane almost sighed his relief out loud when the last class ended and he was released. Finally, he could head for the door, bypassing most of the other students so he could be in front.

Out in the hall, amid the press of students, he surprised to spot a familiar team jacket near the bathrooms.

Rigsby was at a locker, opening it up. Or, at least trying to. The jock couldn't really manage it because he wasn't actually looking at what he was doing. Instead, he was staring down the hall, dazed by a certain redhead laughing with some of her friends.

The sight made Jane stop in his tracks. The poor guy. It was both amusing and sad at the same time. Those circled each other, both afraid to make the first step. They suffered because they couldn't manage to get over their own fears. He could tell the feelings between them were mutual. If two people liked each other, why should they waste time trying to get together?

He needed a release from this day. A way to work out his own frustrations with himself.

Perhaps it was time to return a favor.

Hastening his steps, Jane caught up to Rigsby and tapped the back of his head lightly to gain his attention. "I owe you."

Startled, Rigsby turned sharply to see who it was and then visibly sagged, peeking one more glance at Van Pelt before turning to open his locker. "Yeah. I guess." He eyed him sidelong, seeming almost put out at the interruption. "So?"

"So, I've been thinking of ways I can repay you."

"Look, Jane-"

"Give me your address."

"What? Why?"

"Come on." Jane motioned for him to hurry, holding out a pen and his forearm since he didn't have any paper nearby.

Reluctantly taking the pen, Rigsby eyed him for another moment before jotting down the number and street.

That done, Jane took back the pen and grabbed the jocks forearm. Not giving the kid time to pull away, he started writing on it. "Winter holiday is coming up really soon. You won't get another chance this year."

Watching him write on his skin, Rigsby frowned. "Chance at what exactly?"

"Just be there at the time and place, and you'll be able to find out. Dress nice."

Eying him distrustfully, Rigsby shook his head. "I don't know about this."

"Trust me, okay?" Jane gave him his most charming and convincing smile. "You'll like the surprise, I swear."

The jock looked like he might be thinking it over. "How nice would I have to dress?"

"Like suit and tie nice. Don't worry so much." He said the last bit over Rigsby's protest. "Said suit will come by your address the night of. Just get dressed and be on time. Alright?"

Still unsure, Rigsby shrugged anyway. "Alright. This better be worth the hassle though."

Jane just smiled and walked away. He took several steps and then leaned over a strangers shoulder and tore a piece of paper from his notebook. "Thanks!" He was sure to shout, at the same time making himself scarce. If there was one thing he knew about taking liberties, it was to not give anyone the chance to object. Or to mete out reprisals.

Using the same pen as before, he wrote something within and folded it up, before walking past Van Pelt and slipping it onto her person.

Stage One, complete.

He grinned mischievously and might even have stayed to see the look on the redhead's face, but he had somewhere he needed to be and he didn't want to be late.