Lisbon's scars burned, all twenty-three of them, as she strode down the hall…scars so horrible, so numerous, she had to wear long sleeves even in midsummer - which, in California, was especially brutal.

And why did she have them?

Because she'd cared about Patrick Jane.

If she hadn't, Red John wouldn't have taken her, and even if he were to have taken her for some other reason, the only reason she had held on for so long was because she'd known her death would devastate Jane - she made her peace with death less than half an hour after she awoke to find herself Red John's captive, but had clung to life for Jane's sake…and had therefore endured three weeks of indescribable torture.

What else had she lost because of Jane? Well, Sam Bosco, for one - his death was Jane's fault in so many ways. And she had betrayed Sam's trust once because she'd cared about Jane, too - threatened to end both their careers just to get Jane out of jail. She'd been suspended several times because of Jane, willingly, almost killed a few times as well…

"You've almost died twice now because of him!"

Red John's words, but they were wrong…No, it had been more than those two times. She'd been kidnapped by a psycho, she'd been shot several times, she had been almost blown up several times in more than one way…

Was there any suffering she had endured over the past ten years that hadn't been Jane's fault, even indirectly?

She couldn't think of any.

Sure, he'd saved her several times, but each of those times, he was saving her from situations she never would have been in to begin with had it not been for him. The scars she bore, that now burned as though they had just been ripped open again, reminded her, every moment, how much she had endured and how much she had sacrificed because she'd cared about Patrick Jane.

Half an hour ago, she had thought she might be in love with him - almost agreed with Red John and Charlotte and probably everyone else! Now, she remembered why it would be stupid of her to have feelings like that for him: because he was a cold, arrogant bastard who didn't care about anything or anyone but himself.

She didn't love him now.

She hated him.*

Of course, Walter Mashbourne would have to pay, too - he had made a choice to put her through this just as much as Jane had. Funny, really, how the only men she had ever been close to had unwillingly worked together to make this night the worst ordeal of her life, even worse than her time as Red John's captive.

They would both pay.

First, Walter had to be found. He'd revealed himself to Charlotte, so he probably wasn't hiding; finding him and taking him down wouldn't be diffiuclt. And…they probably should keep Jane's survival a secret until it was done - even with her vendetta against Jane, Lisbon couldn't let Walter have his way in the end either.

The others insisted on waiting to arrest Walter until Jane was well enough to leave the hospital and join them. The majority ruled, but Lisbon refused to have any direct involvement in that side of things; when Jane was snuck out of the hospital two days later, it was Van Pelt who picked him up.

He wasn't surprised, didn't even comment on Lisbon's absence. He knew what he'd done to her, and she had every right to be furious with him. It didn't matter that this time, he really had been trying to protect her from the worst situation he could think of - he had messed up royally, and it wasn't fair that anyone but him pay the price for it.

Except maybe Walter.

That Walter Mashbourne was also Red John's Little Rich Boy was very surprising for Jane - he had spent time with Walter himself, even sort of liked the guy, enough to push Lisbon towards him at least…and all along, the man had hated his guts. He'd been very good at pretending, and Jane had to respect him for it.

Finally, all five members of the Red Team were outside Walter Mashbourne's residence, ready to finally take him down. Charlotte was there as well, setting up, but there would be no official report until after Walter was in handcuffs.

Time for some payback.

~o~

Lisbon was pissed, so, as with Red John, she didn't even bother knocking - she took out her rage on the door and smashed it down without any thought or hesitation.

And she got the same response:

"The door wasn't locked, you know."

Walter was sitting inside calmly, clearly waiting for them. Lisbon's eyes narrowed at the sight of him.

"Hey, Saint," he said, only half-casually.

"Don't call me that, Rich," she growled.

He nodded and stood, not smiling. She holstered her gun, almost regretting that she had no excuse to use it, then walked inside, her team behind her. Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt looked at Walter Mashbourne with new eyes. He met their gazes, almost understandingly. Then he turned back to Lisbon, who was approaching him.

"Look, Teresa, I'm sorry," he said; "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But I had to."

Without further pretense or even the slightest change in expression, she punched him hard in the face. He didn't even try to dodge it, stumbling back from the blow, though he managed not to fall.

"The hell you did, you bastard," she snarled. "Did you do this yourself, or did Dove-?"

"I promised Dove on RJ's grave I wouldn't do anything," Walter confessed to her; "she's probably almost as mad at me for this as you are. But listen, Teresa, I had to! The world's better off without that idiot-"

"You mean I'm better off without that idiot," Lisbon snapped. "Right? That is it, isn't it?"

Walter hesitated, then sighed. "You deserve better," he said. "RJ wouldn't have wanted-"

She punched him again, then turned him around and slammed him mercilessly against the wall, face-first.

"You're under arrest, you son of a bitch," she spat, cuffing him.

"Teresa, I'm sorry, I know you're upset," he said, "but hating me isn't going to bring him back. What matters is that he's gone - it's over, he'll never do anything stupid again."

"You sure about that?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes at the voice that spoke up with impeccable timing. She jerked Walter around so he was facing the room and door…and could see Jane standing in the doorway.

His eyes bulged, his jaw dropped.

Jane smiled at him and waved. "Hey, Walter," he said cheerfully.

"You - I - but-!" Walter spluttered.

"You're under arrest," Lisbon said, "for the attempted murder of Patrick Jane…though trust me, you're not the only one here who wishes you hadn't failed."

Jane's smile dropped at that; she may as well have slapped him.

"Come on, you piece of filth," Lisbon growled, dragging him towards the door.

"But - but - but how?" he exclaimed, staring at Jane, just barely walking enough to stay on his feet as Lisbon stomped by. "You were dead!"

"Uh, no, actually, I wasn't," Jane told him, walking beside him to keep up with Lisbon, who was acting as though neither of them were speaking. "I was faking. Self-induced body death - extremely risky, and it was almost impossible to pull off, but there you go. I had a feeling one of you wouldn't follow Red John's code of honor, and I was ready, though I didn't tell anyone in advance."

Lisbon jerked Walter forward at those words. He was too astonished to even notice.

"But I - but you - but - but -!" he babbled incoherently all the way to the police car Lisbon shoved him into. Someone else was driving, so she shut the door on him and stood back. She glared after the vehicle, even allowed Jane to handle the press. When the car was out of sight, she turned the same glare on Jane as he described his feat to Charlotte and the cameras.

Well, that's done with, at least, she thought.

But she wasn't satisfied - she didn't feel any better at all. The worst part was that, because the Red Team was such a big deal, she couldn't fire Jane, couldn't transfer him to another team, couldn't transfer herself to another team - she would have to deal with being his boss for the rest of their lives.

It wasn't like her to take advantage of her power - most often, if anything, she submitted to others. In this case, however, life had buried her in lemons, so she was going to do her best to make lemonade.

If she had to be Jane's boss, she would use her status as such to make his life hell.

~o~

Walter rode in silent shock. Outsmarted by Patrick Jane, just as RJ had been…How had he not seen this coming? He had failed. He wondered how Dove felt - she knew, surely, that Jane was alive, though she hadn't told him, or anyone else as far as he knew.

"Dove isn't too happy with you," said the driver.

Walter jumped. He recognized that voice.

"Ace?"

"Rich," the man known as Ace among Red John's friends acknowledged. "You're not going to jail; Dove wants to deal with you personally."

Well, hell.

~o~

There was no official record of what happened to Walter Mashbourne - he was put in a police car, and then he, the car, and the driver all vanished. Having been revealed to be one of Red John's friends, it was just as well - the general public would have mercilessly ripped him to shreds, the legal system be damned.

Of course, Dove was furious for much more personal reasons. She decided to make an example of him, assembling all of Red John's friends to watch her punish him, even Kristina. She tied him between two poles, rendering him helpless, and set it all on a stage so everyone could see.

"Walter Mashbourne, Little Rich Boy of Red John, you promised me, on RJ's grave, that you would not act out," she declared.

"I had to do something!" he exclaimed. "You would have let him-!"

Dove slapped him to make him shut up.

"An attempt on Patrick Jane's life was never the answer," she told him furiously, "and now that you've done it anyway, and he's made such a spectacular show of outsmarting you at it, we've all been made fools of! Everyone will think you were acting on our behalf, and they'll think of us all as dishonorable lowlifes for acting out when Red John himself would not have!"

"They think we're lowlifes anyway!" Walter argued.

"At least we had honor!" Dove shouted. "Now, we're nothing but scum! That is what we, all that's left of Red John's legacy, have been turned into now because of you!" She hit Walter in the face again, this time with a fist. She was wearing RJ's hunting costume - albeit with the hood and mask down - so the blow had some extra force to it, and Walter noticed.

"How are you…?" he asked, breathless from more than just pain.

Dove smiled. "Not all of RJ's strength came from his own body," she told Rich, and all the others as well. "He never wasted anything."

Walter's eyes widened.

"There is only one positive aspect of what you've done," Dove went on after a minute: "Red John's Dear Little Saint now hates Patrick Jane almost as much as RJ himself did."

Everyone watching gasped; Walter blinked. "She does?" he asked, surprised.

Dove nodded. "Seems Jane didn't tell her he was prepared to fake his own death," she said, speaking to everyone present now. "He's put her through a lot, but the night she thought he died was the final straw. If he does love her now, it will only mean more pain for him."

Some mutterings and whispers ran through the audience.

"Therefore," Dove went on after a minute, turning back to Walter, "you will not be punished with death for your betrayal."

Rich had less than a second to be relieved before Dove took out Red John's precious knife and unfolded it.

"However," she went on, "your insolence has cost us dearly, and your broken vow is abhorrent. You will be punished."

As she approached him, Red John's knife in hand, his eyes bugged. "RJ never hurt his friends!" he exclaimed.

"He ordered death for the friends who betrayed him," Dove pointed out.

Then she smiled slightly, almost evilly, and though Walter had never seen Red John's dark side in person, he recognized the expression and was suddenly very afraid.

"Besides," she hissed, raising the knife to his throat, "I'm not RJ."

It was fortunate that Dove had decided to have the whole ordeal be carried out so far from any living human being; Walter's screams ripped through the night, but there was no one to hear him apart from the rest of Red John's friends, all of whom were forced to watch as their new leader punished the traitor.

The message to them was clear:

Red John may be gone, but his work lives on, and anyone who disgraces it will pay…even if it's one of us.

*But isn't hate merely the result of wounded love? X)