A/N: Hello everyone! If you thought I'd never be back here, well, so did I. But after a two-year break, I found I had another story to tell, one that would correct what I feel is the greatest flaw in the series—Tom McAllister as Red John, and how all that went down. This is set post-series, two months after Jane and Lisbon's wedding. It's not an extreme AU. It's what I would have liked to have happened had the series continued. I hope you like it.

Red John Returns

Chapter 1

"Hi, honey, I'm home!"

It never failed to amuse them both, Teresa Lisbon-Jane's standard greeting upon her return from work at the FBI. On this day, two months after their wedding, Patrick Jane was working in what would be the nursery in four short months, painting the walls a neutral sage green.

"I'm in here," called Jane, his wide smile in his voice.

It was a small cabin, their fixer-upper, and Lisbon quickly found her husband, paint roller in hand, a rainbow of spatters from the other three rooms he'd already painted on his white t-shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. She paused in the doorway, taking in his work, her eyes soft as she looked upon this beautiful man she loved.

"Hey," he said. "How was your day?"

The scent of burgers came with her, and she held up a grease-stained takeout bag by way of explanation. He nodded in understanding. It was that kind of day, was it.

"Craving red meat again I see," he ventured cautiously. "Was there a set-back in the Morgan case?"

Lisbon sighed, but then her dimples appeared and he knew she was teasing. She could still fool him, even after all these years. "Actually…we solved it. This is celebratory grease."

His grin sparkled at her. "Bravo!" He set the roller down in the tray and walked over to bend and kiss her, careful not to get paint on her green silk blouse. "See, you don't need me hanging around the office anymore."

And despite Lisbon's frown at that pronouncement, he was truly happy this was the case. He needn't feel guilty for spending his days working on this house, and he didn't have to watch her put herself in danger anymore. Sure, he'd hear about it later, and he still worried plenty from a distance, but at least at home he could occupy himself enough to get him through the day.

"You know that's not true," she was saying. "I miss you. We all miss you. But I know you're happy doing this right now, so I'm willing to wait till you come to your senses."

He kissed her cheek, nuzzled into her hair. "Don't hold your breath, dear heart."

Immediately, her knees grew weak, and she closed her eyes, feeling the familiar rush of blood quickening through her body. Between her pregnancy hormones and how incredibly hot he looked in his paint garb, she'd found he merely had to look at her and she wanted him. And when he touched her, it was like something primal took over. Heedless of her good work clothes, she leaned into him, her empty hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, drawing him closer, her mouth returning to his.

"Teresa…I'll ruin your blouse," he muttered against her lips.

"Hmmm…we wouldn't want that…" And she kissed him deeply before stepping back, handing him the bag while she held his eyes and proceeded to unbutton her endangered blouse. She was pleased when his eyes widened slightly and then darkened with desire as he looked down at her chest as she revealed her rosy flesh. Her breasts, much fuller these days, were barely contained within the confines of her bra, her cleavage deep and inviting. Jane dropped the burgers unceremoniously on the tarp covered floor and gladly took what she was offering…

Later, they ate hamburgers and fries in their underwear, sitting cross-legged on the nursery floor. He grinned as he wiped mustard off the corner of her lips with a paper napkin, then laughed out loud when he saw the paint she'd somehow managed to acquire in her hair and on her gently rounded belly. He hadn't told her how he'd driven the guy in the paint store crazy, trying to find the exact shade of Lisbon's eyes to paint their baby's room with. He fished out another napkin to wipe at the mess, kissing the place where his child was growing. Sated (at least for the moment), she preened under his further attention, kissing his rough cheek as he bent to his task. She was amazed how much she wanted him again so soon.

Somewhere in her discarded slacks, Lisbon's cell phone began to ring.

"Hey, didn't the phone ring while we were…?"

Jane nodded. "Yep. Only that time it was mine." They'd decided early on in their romantic relationship that if the phone rang while they were making love, neither of them would interrupt what they were doing to answer. They figured that if it was work, it meant a dead body, and as callous as it might sound, the poor soul wouldn't get any deader waiting until they were finished.

Since her pants were closer to him, Jane reached into the pocket and fished her phone out.

"It's Cho," he said.

"Hey, boss," she said, her lips quirking. It was still surreal to answer to her former subordinate, but she'd had no issue with Cho assuming that position—he more than deserved it and she didn't miss the intense responsibility of being in charge at all, especially with a baby on the way.

"Hey. I've been trying to get Jane. I got a weird call today, from California."

Lisbon's eyebrows shot up. "Anyone we know?"

"Yeah. Is Jane around?"

"Sure. He's right here."

She handed her phone to Jane, her expression wary and curious. Jane frowned. He didn't get many phone calls these days, having made it known that he would only step in to help the FBI when they were at an absolute dead end on a case. And since they'd just closed one, it was odd Cho wanted to talk to him now.

"What's up, Cho, my brother?" Lisbon grinned. She could imagine their stoic friend's bland expression at the teasing moniker.

"I got a call today from the Sierra Vista Psychiatric Facility in Sacramento."

Jane tensed. There was only one patient he knew of who was staying there.

"Is it Kristina?" he asked softly. He glanced at Teresa, his face pale.

Lisbon lowered the French fry she was about to put in her mouth. Kristina Frye. Now there was a name they'd not heard of in about seven years. She wondered if the poor woman, badly brainwashed by Red John, had passed away. The last she'd heard, the fake psychic had been languishing in a mental hospital in a practically catatonic state, a victim of the serial killer's vengeance.

"Yeah," Cho was saying. "Apparently, she suddenly came out of her stupor and is asking to see you."

"What?" said Jane in disbelief. "What do you mean she came out of it? Red John made her think she was dead, living in the afterlife. How does someone one day just snap out of that?"

"I don't know, but she's anxious to give you some important information."

Jane didn't know what to say, so shocked was he to be thrown back in time to one of the worst days of his life—the day he'd thought he'd gotten Kristina killed, another woman he'd cared about. Almost as bad as murdering her, however, Red John had turned her into a shell of her former self, locked away a brilliant though misguided mind for what he'd assumed was forever. But now they were saying she was released from her mental prison?

"You don't know what she wants to tell me?"

"No idea."

"Well, obviously, I'm not going out to California," said Jane, glancing hastily at Lisbon and away again just as quickly. "I could probably just call and talk to her on the phone."

"Totally your call. Her doctor says she's pretty agitated, though, and she's demanding you come before it's too late. I guess they're trying to protect her by not telling her what she's missed."

"Maybe," said Jane. "What's the number to that hospital?"

Cho supplied it and they ended the call with Jane's thanks.

Jane and Lisbon sat in stunned silence, their appetites suddenly lost.

"Did you hear all that?" Jane asked, considering she was sitting close enough to likely have heard both sides of the conversation.

"Yeah. Kristina's awake, for want of a better term."

"Yeah," Jane confirmed.

Lisbon's heart was racing. Red John was long dead, of course. There was nothing Kristina could tell them that could possibly be relevant now. So why did Lisbon feel like she too was back in those dark days, when fear and uncertainty ruled their lives, when she spent many a sleepless night worried about Jane and what he might do to get himself killed—or whom he might kill first.

"I'm gonna call," Jane announced, jarring her from her worried thoughts. But before he found his own phone, he stood and got dressed, thinking it would feel strange to talk to someone so seriously in only his boxers. But then he paused, his hands on the button on his jeans. "You think I should?" he asked her softly. She was putting on her own clothes, and his vulnerable question made her heart squeeze painfully.

"I-I can't make that decision for you, Patrick. Red John is dead. This is like digging up his grave. Can you handle reliving that all over again? Do you want to?"

He shook his head, but she didn't know which of her questions he was responding to.

"Whatever I feel, I think I owe it to her. What happened to her was my fault." For the first time in years, that bleak, painful expression had returned to his eyes, and she hated seeing it. It took her back in time too, when her own feelings of helplessness had nearly overwhelmed her. She'd lost friends to Red John. She'd lost Jane for two years. Now, she was finally living the life she'd always wanted but never dared believe could happen, and the ghosts from their past threatened to put a pall over all of it.

She went to him, taking his hands, looking deeply into his eyes, fear making her sound almost desperate. "That's not true. Red John is responsible for this, not you. You did a lot of stupid, selfish crap back then, feeding your obsession, but you warned Kristina, you tried to protect her. She chose not to listen to you. Kristina didn't deserve what happened to her, but she was reckless, arrogant. You owe her nothing."

But he wasn't convinced. "Maybe…but still, this is something that has nagged at me, even after all this time—a loose end. I guess maybe I need to see that she really is okay to find closure. Can you understand that?"

Lisbon nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears.

"I think I should go out there," he said, "not just call."

Another look she hadn't seen in a while—that determined, obstinate gleam that always used to make her heart sink like a rock into her stomach, because she knew he would do what he wanted, no matter the consequences, no matter what mess he left for her to clean up in his wake. But things were different now. She had a power over him that she never had when she was just his boss at the CBI: they were married, with a baby on the way.

"Okay," she said. "But I'm going with you."

"Teresa—"

"I don't want to hear it. You're not leaving me on a cliff overlooking the ocean this time. And if I'm there with you, maybe it'll be a reminder of what's really important."

He reached up, smoothed back her hair, a small, rueful smile returning to his lips. "You don't have to worry; I know what's important." His hand dropped to her stomach, where he could just feel the slight flutter of their unborn child. "But you shouldn't put yourself through any undue stress. I don't think it would be good for the baby."

She frowned. "Don't play the baby card on me. Junior here will be just fine. It's a plane ride and a visit to a hospital. We'll be there for moral support. I insist."

He bent and gently kissed her, still overwhelmed sometimes that he was entitled to do that whenever he wanted. Those years alone, after his wife was murdered, he'd longed so much to be touched, to be loved, but had denied himself (with a couple embarrassing exceptions) as a form of self-flagellation. No way he was going to do something stupid now to screw all this up. If he ever lost Teresa and this baby, he didn't think he could survive it.

"Well, my love, if you insist, I guess I can't say no."

"No, you can't."

After another kiss, he brought out his own phone, punched in the number Cho had given him that he'd instantly committed to memory. As the other end connected, he met Lisbon's anxious eyes.

"Doctor Barto," he said. "This is Patrick Jane. I hear Kristina Frye has been wanting to see me…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The flight from Austin to Sacramento had been uneventful, though neither of them had spoken much, their destination heavy on their minds. Jane hadn't been to California since he'd killed Red John and fled to a South American island, and Lisbon hadn't been since she'd been let go from the dissolved CBI and left for her new job in Washington State. It was going to be very bittersweet for both of them, being back.

"We should call Wayne and Grace while we're here," suggested Lisbon. "Maybe they'd have time to meet for dinner before we head back tomorrow." They'd purposefully made this a quick trip—no sense wallowing in painful memories any longer than they'd have to.

"Sounds good," agreed Jane as they stood at the counter of the car rental company. They also deserved to know what was going on with Kristina, he thought. He knew Grace still blamed herself too for Kristina's abduction by Red John, since she'd been the one on guard duty that day. She would probably welcome some closure as well.

The familiar lunch hour traffic of Sacramento was not something either of them had missed, and it took them twice as long as necessary to arrive at Sierra Vista in their mid-sized sedan. They passed by the State Capitol building, and memories made Lisbon's eyes water as she saw just the top of the old CBI building from the freeway. After the FBI had cleaned up shop, indicted most everyone on the list of Blake Association members Cho had found in Gale Bertram's storage rental, the state of California was in the process of slowly reinstituting the bureau, carefully peopling it with exhaustively vetted federal and state agents. Perhaps one day the Serious Crimes Unit would be successfully up and running again, she thought wistfully. Too bad she and Jane and the rest of the old team wouldn't be there to see it. Jane must have been thinking the same thing, for he wordlessly reached for her hand across the console and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

Jane found an empty spot in the visitor's section of the mental facility parking lot, and he trotted around to Lisbon's side to open the car door for her. She took his hand, needing a little extra help these days to get out of low chairs. He continued holding her hand as they went inside and inquired at the reception desk about Kristina.

A middle-aged woman in a white lab coat soon arrived, her dark hair graying at the temples. "I'm Caroline Barto, Mr. Jane. We spoke on the phone yesterday." They shook hands.

"Yes, of course. And this is my wife, Teresa. She was with the CBI too when Kristina was taken. I assume you know Kristina's story…"

"Yes," replied the doctor, shaking Lisbon's hand. "I received a report from the CBI once she was admitted. Tragic, tragic situation. We've had several specialists over the years try to get past the mental walls her captor erected in her mind. I've never seen someone so deeply enmeshed in a hypnotic state like that. She never spoke, couldn't dress herself. We had to feed her with a spoon like a baby. Now, even more amazing—she's suddenly just…back." She shook her head, marveling. "It's a miracle, really. By all accounts, she was lost forever."

"And you say she seems normal now, fully cognizant?" Jane asked.

"Yes, though she has no sense of the passage of time. It's like Rip Van Winkle, seriously. She's still back in 2010. We haven't tried to tell her otherwise; we have no idea how she might react to the shock, so I suggest you go along with her as much as you can. As I told you on the phone, she's adamant that she speak to you right away, Mr. Jane. She claims to have news about the identity of Red John that she can only trust you to know. Of course, it was all over the news a few years ago when he was uh, killed, and his crime organization was exposed. Quite a big mess, as I recall." She blushed, remembering suddenly that Jane was the one who had killed the serial killer and fled the country.

"Well, the FBI dropped all charges against me," Jane said, amused at her embarrassment.

"And me," added Teresa. "We both work for the FBI now, in Austin."

Doctor Barto nodded. "That's how we were able to track you down. We called the CBI, and a woman named Madeleine Hightower directed us to Austin."

Jane and Lisbon smiled. Apparently, all had been forgiven of Hightower too, if their old boss was back with the CBI.

"When can we see Kristina," asked Jane.

"Right now, if you're ready. She was excited to hear you were on your way." The doctor began to walk toward a hallway that obviously led to patients' rooms.

"How did you explain why she was in a hospital?" asked Lisbon.

"Well, she remembers that Red John took her, hypnotized her, so we just said she was here as a precaution, to monitor her for a few days, to keep her safe. She has a sister in San Diego who is on her way up to see her, to try to figure out what's next if indeed Kristina is back to herself. Regardless, she's going to need a lot of therapy once she finds out she's been out of it for seven years."

They stopped in front of a closed door, and Doctor Barto hesitated, her hand on the doorknob.

"Remember, be gentle with her, go along with whatever she says for now. Try to be understanding, reassuring, no matter how she behaves. She's a feisty one, anxious to get what she wants."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other and grinned, remembering. Yes, that definitely sounded like the old Kristina.

"Okay," said Jane. "We're ready."

The doctor lightly tapped on the door before opening it. "Kristina, you have visitors."

"Come in."

The patient was sitting at a table by a sunny window, but despite the confident, familiar voice, beyond that the woman bore little resemblance to the Kristina Frye of seven years ago. She was extremely thin and frail, and the once vibrant red hair was now almost fully white, hanging dully around her shoulders in sad waves. Her face was pale, her blue eyes washed out and sunken in. It was a shock to see her this way, and Jane squeezed Lisbon's hand convulsively.

"Patrick! And you brought Teresa! Good. She needs to know this too, I guess. I'd get up, but I feel so weak. Red John did something to me, I guess. Drugged me maybe? I don't remember much after he picked me up at my condo, but what I do remember is big, Patrick. It's the break you've been looking for."

Jane sat down at the chair across from Kristina at the table, and Lisbon sat on the bed, she too surprised at how horrible the psychic looked now, and it was an effort to school her face to a benign expression. She'd once been a beautiful woman, and seeing her this way made Lisbon want to cry. She hadn't liked Kristina much, and she knew now that it was mainly due to her own jealousy at the time. She and Jane had gone out on a date or two, and Lisbon hadn't liked that at all. Still, what Red John had done to her had been horribly cruel, a fate almost worse than death—just existing, zombielike, left to waste away forever.

"What do you remember?" asked Jane gently, allowing this woman from his past to take his hand across the table. She leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I saw him, Patrick. Red John let me see his face. I can't believe I'm still alive after that." She looked sheepish then. "I should have listened to you, about leaving him alone, I suppose. But I was right about him. He just wanted to be heard, to be understood. We spoke a little before the drugs set in, I guess. He talked a lot about you, asked if you were ready to give up yet. I reassured him you were not."

Jane nodded. "No, I've never given up," he agreed, an image of his hands around Tom McAllister's gullet flashing through his mind. He felt a nearly overwhelming wave of sadness and regret, and yes, despite Lisbon's assurances, guilt, at what his quest for vengeance had cost this woman.

"I suggested to him that what he was doing would never truly fulfill him," she continued excitedly, "that he was a man above this life, that he was better that that, smarter. We started talking about the merits of his retiring. He could start a new life, find happiness, even love. I think I actually got through to him." She was clearly proud of herself.

Jane's eyes narrowed. His own similar conversation with whom he'd thought had been Red John had occurred months after Kristina was taken, in the mall where he'd shot his impersonator. Because of this, Kristina likely had, in fact, been talking to the madman himself, or possibly Timothy Carter. It was really odd then, that Red John had risked leaving Kristina alive after that.

"Well, don't you want to know who he is?" Kristina prompted at his silence.

"Yes," said Jane, glancing over at his wife, "of course we do."

"I recognized him right away," she said, "because I saw him with the forensics team that day Rosemary was murdered in front of my shop. Brilliant undercover disguise, don't you think? He would be privy to all kinds of CBI investigation information about him."

"Forensics guy?" Jane said, eyes widening. "What did he look like?"

"Dark hair. About your height. Sort of thin, I guess. His name was on his badge. It stuck with me because it was an unusual name, like from that old TV show from the seventies. Also, apparently I was receiving some message from beyond to remember it: Partridge. His last name was Partridge."

"What? Brett Partridge? You think Red John is Brett Partridge?"

"Yes! Brett! That was his first name. My God, Patrick, what are you two waiting for? Go arrest him. He should be easy to find, right, being in the CBI?" She held his hands more tightly, her eyes drifting closed. "I can see them now-Angela and Charlotte, they're smiling. You're in a position now to finally give them justice."

He always felt shaken when she "spoke" for his dead wife and child. He wanted to dispute it, but he remembered how the doctor said to go along with whatever she said. "Yes, Kristina, this is good information. I've actually suspected Partridge for some time."

"Well, now you have confirmation. I'm so glad I could help you. And even if you don't catch him, maybe he really will retire, and there will be no more deaths." She fairly beamed.

"Wouldn't that be incredible," said Jane. "Thank you, Kristina, for sharing this with me. And I'm so glad you're okay. I've—we've been worried about you. Doctor Barto says your sister's coming to see you. Sounds like you'll be in good hands until you fully recover."

"Yes. And Patrick, maybe when I'm up to it, we can have a do-over on that date you had to skip out on."

Jane smiled tenderly at her, bent and kissed her cheek. "That sounds lovely, Kristina, but I think our time has passed. I'm sure there's someone out there for you who will be the kind of man you need."

Kristina's face fell, but Jane knew he had to make it clear to her that he wouldn't be able to be there for her like she would need in the days ahead.

"I understand, I guess. I sort of ruined it for us. I see that now."

"No," said Jane sincerely. "It was all me. I just wasn't ready."

"It was good to see you, Kristina," said Lisbon, rising from the bed. She put her left hand in her jacket pocket to hide her wedding band. It would be hard to explain how she was suddenly married, and to whom.

"You too, Teresa. Good luck with Partridge, and be careful. He truly has a devious mind."

"Yes, he does. Thanks for the information."

"Good-bye Kristina. Be well," said Jane, and they left her staring out the window, the sun shining around her hair like a halo.

They made it all the way to the rental car before Jane broke, gathering Lisbon into his arms. They held each other tightly, silently, unable to fully articulate their emotions.

Xxxxxxxxxx

After their meeting with Kristina, they'd decided not to try to meet with Grace and Wayne, feeling too depressed and shaken to socialize, so they'd ordered in at their hotel near the airport, spent the evening watching some mindless TV show, speaking little. They made love that night, the intensity of seeing Kristina fueling their passion, their gratitude that it was really and truly over now, that all the bad was behind them. There was nothing left undone, nothing more to worry about, and they held each other afterwards, both of them falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The shrill ring of Jane's phone awoke them hours later, and he blindly reached out to grab it off the nightstand. It was an unknown number, and he very nearly pressed ignore, but it was difficult to ignore a call in the night. He answered it.

"Hello?" he said groggily.

"Patrick, it's Madeleine Hightower." The tension in her voice brought him fully awake.

"Madelyn. What is it?" His heart was pounding crazily now, dread filling him. Beside him, Teresa turned on the bedside lamp, her face alert and pale. She knew what calls in the middle of the night usually meant.

"It's Kristina. She's dead. It looks like-well, it looks like Red John, but I know that's obviously impossible. Some sick copycat no doubt, or some lost member of the Blake Association that heard she'd come out of it and was talking to you."

"What do you mean it looks like Red John?" said Jane, his voice as icy as the chill down his spine. "Describe it to me exactly."

"You know. Her throat was slit, her body eviscerated. Bloody smile on the wall. Classic Red John that anyone could find on the internet. Since you just saw her, I thought you'd want to know. My people are on this though, okay, you don't have to worry about that."

"We'll be there in ten minutes," said Jane, then hung up before Hightower could object. Lisbon had heard it all.

"Jane, let Hightower handle this. Red John is dead. I'm sorry about Kristina, but this isn't our business anymore. Our flight leaves in a few hours, we don't have time to—"

He was torn, of course, and Lisbon was right. They'd put this to bed three years ago; Hightower knew what she was doing, had her own personal interest in finding this sicko herself. But whoever had done this was seeking vengeance for Red John's death, and Jane couldn't help but think it was directed at him personally.

"I let Kristina down before, and my presence here is why she's dead. I'm going to help Madelyn catch this guy. You should go home though. I don't want you anywhere near this, understand?"

He was probably right, she knew. She had their baby to think about. But as she watched him get out of bed and put on his old familiar three-piece suit, she knew that she couldn't let him do this by himself. They were bound to each other for life now, and his fights would always be her fights.

"I'm coming too," she said. "Don't even think about stopping me. Junior's on my side, by the way, so that's two against one."

He looked at her, then looked heavenward, a small, wry smile ghosting around his lips. As much as he hated this idea, he'd finally learned to recognize when he was beaten.

"Now who's playing the baby card? Well, get dressed, woman. We don't have all night."

A/N: Thanks for coming with me on this ride. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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