It's been really long but finally could find some time to start writing this fanfic again. Every season gets better from here on! With the years getting on my appreciation for the writing has gone only further.

The quote elaborates about the part of the episode where these insights start.

I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.

"Take it down, okay, take it down three notches!".

I just had a haircut from my favourite barber, my tension can't help but be high! Lisbon's cloak weighs heavily but I shirk it off every moment it threatens to fly over my skin. She isn't persistent with it though. Maybe she's tired or it's something else. Everyday I forget a little that Maya Plaskett is alive, safe in her home. Everyday I forget a little that Hardy could have killed Lisbon if I hadn't killed him first. The only thing that advances and dozes over, blots the light that enters at dawn through the window of the bedroom Angie and I shared, is torment. The weight crushes me under when I think of how my Red Whale is free to do as he pleases after watching me dance. I should have been closer to catching him by now but no inches have been conquered since his last sighting. It's irritating. Makes me want to doubly play with every case we get but also want them to be over with and out of the way so that I can get back to business. But if Lisbon wants me to tone down a little, I feel relieved for a second, the weight leaves and I hurry to accommodate her command.

"Dead suspect, a quarter million dollars worth of damages, formal complaints of misconduct from the SPD and the Modesto City council." Minelli paces in agitation.

The Wicked Witch of the West is having a bad day, disregarding the fact that my loss of tact made the situation spiral out of control. This is not new, if anything, he should have expected it. There have been tiny fossils we have had to dig out in the Red John case, Minelli needs to appreciate the priorities here. Far from it, he has trained his professional lens microscopically over me. Resentment irks and roils me inside. For a moment I can't even think on the read I have on Minelli to steer his control back to the way I want it.

Purple clouds over.

"He's a serial killer. Fifteen victims including your wife and child. I can imagine your pain. Maybe that pain is clouding your judgement." Samuel Bosco narrows his eyes.

The wave has gotten taller, wider, longer, stronger, massive. It crashes over me. I am standing doing nothing, thoughts erased, no attempt to avoid it. It's unbelievable. I can't be off the case! Impossible! Unthinkable! Everyone knows why! They know. Just as illogical that they think Lisbon is going easy since apparently she owes her 'life' to me… That her life must continue, is automatic- a forgone conclusion. It has nothing to do with anything. When Minelli says we got way too close since Hardy, I have to pause. Did we get too close to Red John or did the team and Lisbon get too close to me? What would be worse? What actually happened? The last time I couldn't tell reality from assumption was at ten. I have to get out of this fast.

"You're right. Best you leave. That way you can go back to being a full-time fraud and we can do our useless jobs in peace." Lisbon says in a tone of finality.

A unit of syllables that spell 'sorry' want to cut the length of my tongue. My teeth bubble up and swallow themselves and I can say nothing. Regret is swift as it has never been, freezing my throat. All valid angry excuses seem flimsy now, in front of Lisbon's calm storm. I am ashamed. A frame shifts. It's a damning picture that I see. Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho and Lisbon. The spine of the book in my hand is 384 pages smooth. They will continue their jobs of course, what did I think? That everything would stop if I wasn't there? Or did I just want to return to my earlier blissful ignorance? The child in me looks at a grown man's hand holding a book. I put it down and run. I just hope it's not too late and their van hasn't pulled out.

"Strawberries?" Scoffs Lisbon. "Yeah, how good is that? See?" Jane puts forth his peace offering to everyone.

Another wave had gathered when I was bluntly arrogant with Lisbon back at the crime scene. It was a wave unrecognisable. But it has already built itself and I'm afraid of letting it crash over me. I will do anything to stop it, act rapidly to calm it. Is it just because this is simply the closest way in sight right now, to stay close to Red John? I am wary. It fills me with dread to pilfer through my flippant layers carefully protecting the core reason. I stop peeling back. As I stop Lisbon by her hand, azure water that just might have been sky, crashes below, gently, rising again and exploding on land. Since I shared my embarrassing past with her, she calmly asks for my vulnerabilities and dismantles my facades with her stubbornness. It's utterly contemptible that I have insulted her pride in the job she believes in. She has faith that this is the closest a person can get to restoring balance or justice to a twisted world. I quickly disagree with her notion because I'm not convinced of it's truth yet. My young incorrigible self feels chagrin fresh in front of the Catholic cross though. I let her peek a little behind that self. Instead of fear, relief seeps in my blood.

"From now on there have to boundaries. I need to know you can do your work and be effective without causing a mess I have to clean up," pleads Lisbon.

'Boundaries'.

She's saying boundaries about work but means something else, maybe? I don't have my mask on, writhing mess on full display so can't read her yet but her boundaries seem to be warning me to not try and 'save' her anymore. She is prodding gently that she's a big girl, doesn't need any help and will handle crisis as she has. I reserve that away for the time being and agree with her visible meaning. Just because she has always risked her neck doesn't mean she won't get tired of it. It was dangerous of me to take it for granted. Hence the 'boundaries'. Lisbon's toughness gives way softly. I can't help the expression that comes over and hug her to hide it and bury anything beyond the platonic.

We are back. Joy leaps singly in abandon.

"If you sit down by the river bank and wait long enough, you will see the bodies of your enemies float by." Jane recites calmly.

When I first saw Bosco in Minelli's office, he was a straight shooter who did his job exceptionally well. Little research and small behaviour patterns catalogued, I have a good grasp on him but his intense hostility and prejudice over me is a surprise. I would have merely expected some initial judgements that give way to pliable co-operation. He seems intent on locking horns though. There's something there hidden, the reason, beneath the surface it'll take more time to wheedle it out. If he thinks his antagonism is going to put me off, he's way off and so I warned that it would take more time for him to understand me. If he doesn't, it doesn't matter in the slightest. I will make him or burrow inside his men, make him give it all up. I can't afford to do otherwise. I would have thought he, of all people, would get that.

"Sam Bosco here, CBI Major Crimes program." Jane delivers smoothly on the line.

Eeh, the girl had been least favourite, overlooked by the mother in favour of the younger one, it was instantly recognisable when we talked in their house. Something about her crying in regret after watching her mother's confession video though, it undoes me. Bosco is by-the-book.

For now, I'm loathe to turn any of his men plus they might have already been warned against me. He collects and possibly induces loyalty. It wouldn't sit that well to turn it at my advantage. Somehow, it strangely reminds me of Lisbon.

So, the in-house passcode access it is.