Chapter 8: Remembering

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is directly quoted from The Mentalist Fugue in Red episode.

Lisbon and Jane walked out of the observation room. Cho had broken Wilcox, the rest was details.

"So you're going to the hospital, get Miller to release you?"

"Seems I have no choice," Jane answered with a shrug.

Lisbon stopped by the break room for coffee. She could see Jane making calls on a bullpen phone. Ah. Cell's ruined. Has to dig up some fawning female to be his 'responsible adult.' After the Wilcox take-down she had given Dr. Jason Miller a heads up about Jane's intentions. She desperately hoped he could change Jane's mind. But doubted it. After Jane left she went to her office. Said he'd be back for his paycheck. My last chance.

She took a deep breath and placed the call, again on speaker. It was answered on the second ring.

"Dr. Miller."

"This is Agent Lisbon. I need your advice."

"Just a moment." Lisbon heard Sophie Miller speaking in the background, a door closing, then silence. "Bring me up to date."

"Jane is getting Dr. Jason Miller to release him."

"Into whose care? Did he recover his memory?"

Lisbon quelled her irritation at being interrogated. "He pretty much figured it out but doesn't actually remember." She almost missed Miller's murmured, "He would." "Jane's quitting the CBI."

"And?"

"I want to take him to Malibu."

After a second, "Hope the murder scene triggers his memories?"

"Yes." Grimly, "Will it work? Will it be better than him remembering alone?"

Probing, "Is the house still empty? With that - symbol on the wall?"

Quietly, "He sometimes sleeps on a mattress under the smiley face. It keeps him focused on hunting Red John."

Cool, detached. "Some might say 'obsessed.' Even after killing Timothy Carter?"

"He's convinced Carter wasn't Red John."

Meticulously professional, "Is there objective reason to believe that?"

"Yes. Evidence went missing after Jane shot Carter. And the recent murder of serial killer SJK was Red John's MO."

"How is he handling killing the wrong man?"

Expressionless. "Carter said he was Red John, taunted Jane with how his wife and daughter smelled when they died. The Carters were raping and torturing a girl chained in their basement. Remains of eight victims were found on their property."

"So morally justified in his eyes. Guilt?"

Lisbon sighed. "Only about his family, failing to get Red John. –About my plan?"

Thoughtfully, "It should work. Regaining a decade of traumatic memories will be confusing and destabilizing. The best reaction would be anger, lashing out verbally–"

"'Best'?"

"The alternative is depression. Worse."

"Why?"

Miller answered clinically. "Depression is harder to counteract. Imagine your hypothetical survivor alone with his grief and guilt after the funeral. Six months later neighbors discover him catatonic, totally focused on the event. Reaching him, engaging his mind to work through the emotions and thinking required powerful drugs and months of intensive counseling. The physical release of anger is preferable."

Lisbon swallowed. "What should I do?"

"It's promising that he's close to remembering. His subconscious deems him strong enough to deal with the tragedy–"

Tired of the politically correct, the euphemism society demanded, Lisbon interrupted harshly, "–The murders, a deliberate criminal act. It wasn't some accident or natural disaster."

Not quite apologizing, "My wording was imprecise. Regardless, remembering with a supportive friend is much better than alone. Help him express the emotions and thoughts rather than internalize them ... again."

Lisbon almost whispered, "I'm not trained. Can I really help him?"

Miller replied slowly, tone softer. "Short of psychiatric intervention, you may be the best person to help. Hunting Red John for years and killing Carter show he should have remained in treatment. I failed him in that. From what I observed, you're the reason Patrick is healing and can cope with daily exposure to homicides."

Lisbon blinked at the unexpected compliment. "Oh."

"His grief will be fresh when he remembers. But the intervening years and experiences will help blunt the event. He'll have your support, perhaps your team's. That's far more than he had after the murders."

Her chest hurt, a seemingly permanent lump caught in her throat at the thought of what Jane had faced alone. "Thank you, Doctor Miller."

"Call me at 323-555-5371 if his reactions are more than you can handle. I can be in Malibu in an hour. –Good luck."

"Thank you." She gently replaced the handset. Hope fought fear. What am I taking on?

The next few hours were spent wrapping up the Satterfield case and inducting Wilcox into the justice system. Lisbon received Van Pelt's report on some money missing from the S&L robbery without comment. Cho and Rigsby passed along Wilcox's accusation that Jane took the money. She set it aside. Paychecks were delivered after noon by inter-office mail and she waited and told herself Jane would be back. The paycheck piqued his curiosity. And he promised... The team was going over the S&L case when Jane appeared. Finally!

Lisbon straightened as Jane and a young woman approached the bullpen.

She ignored the stab of pain. Really, Jane? "Hi, who's this?"* Tight dress, cleavage, killer heels, all of, what, 22? You'll flay yourself alive when you remember your family.

Smugly, "Oh, this is my 'responsible adult' – Tamara."*

The girl corrected him, "Ta'-mara,"* with nothing more to offer than looking cute.

Lisbon bit back her reaction, said, "Hi,"* then focused on Jane. "Well, you did it. You caught a killer, and we got back most of the stolen cash."* Can't you see you're good at this?

"Most?"* Transparent, fake.

Damn. "Wilcox was missing some of the money. He said you took it, but we didn't believe it."* You're better than a cheap thief.

"I'd look for an accomplice. That's a big job to pull off alone."*

Lying through your teeth! What are you thinking? "We'll do that. Oh, by the way, your last paycheck."* She handed him the folded slip of paper.

He blurted in disbelief, "That's my payment?!"*

Dryly, "You weren't exactly in it for the money."*

"Well, I'll confess to a vague satisfaction in taking down someone that thought they were smarter than me. But not enough to wanna stick around here."* He waved the check. "Certainly not for this!"*

Unable, unwilling to suppress her sarcasm, "All right. Well, let me know if you change your mind, or – you know – get it back."* He's gotta be thinking about when he remembers, gotta be worried ... somewhere. Jane, where are you?

"Some doors are best left shut."* Louder, "Uh, everyone else, I – I'd just like to say thank you. I'm sure we've shared some great times together. I'm not presently qualified to comment, so I'm just gonna make like a rock and roll. Bye."* He moved to lead Tamara toward the elevator.

Do something!

Van Pelt's exclamation startled Lisbon. "Wait! That looks real."*

At a glance, "Sure does."* Diamond bracelet for his arm candy. He's flaunting the theft, goddammit. –He's not stupid so why's he throwing it in our faces, risking arrest?

Tamara exclaimed, "You weren't lying!" and thanked him with a kiss.

Devastated, Van Pelt accused, "You took it. Wilcox wasn't lying. You really took it."*

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. I – I'm late for my new life."* Jane turned to leave.

Mind made up, Cho challenged, "When did you grab the cash?"*

Rigsby's expression made his disappointment plain without a word.

Dismissive, "Oh, please, does it really matter? I mean, you people are the highway robbers. Look at this paycheck!"

Van Pelt ripped into him, outrage battling fear for him. "We could have you arrested for grand theft."*

"There's not a jury in the world that would convict me. I'm out of my mind. Ask my doctor!"*

Won't look us in the eye, can't stand the disapproval. Wants us to stop him! Lisbon blocked his path and said quietly,"You're running away."*

"What are you talking about?"* Fear underlay denial.

"You're starting to feel something inside and you don't know what to do with it."* Push it, push him.

"That's nonsense,"* silver tongue turned to lead.

Just get him to come- "Prove it. Take a ride with me. If you still want to leave after that, you can."*

Jane stood frozen in uncertainty. The girl tugged his arm.

"Patrick, are we going?"

Distractedly, "I'm sorry, Tamara," mispronouncing her name again. "I, I need to resolve this with Teresa." He gave the girl a wad of money without counting. "Here, take a cab."

She whined, "What about Reno? Call me later?"

Jane shook his head. "No." Distracted, "Thank you for coming to the hospital with me," then ignored her, transfixed and staring at Lisbon.

Lisbon caught Van Pelt's eye and motioned with her chin to get rid of the girl. The redhead coaxed Tamara to the elevator and disappeared. Lisbon pursed her lips – Should impound the bracelet and cash, ah, deal with that later – and let it go.

"I'll get my stuff. It's a long drive." Lisbon glanced at Cho and Rigsby, her look ordering them to keep Jane there. As she brushed past Cho she said in a low voice, "Tell Wainwright I'm taking personal time. –Wrap up the Satterfield case."

"Will do, boss."

"Thanks. Wish me luck."

She grabbed her stuff from her office and locked it. Turning, she was alarmed that Jane was gone–

"-In the men's room. Rigsby's with him," reassured Cho. She blinked in relief. "Boss–"

"What?"

"Malibu?" She nodded. He frowned, "Wise?"

"Best chance of getting him back."

"Back up? How do you know how he'll react?"

Uncharacteristically, she put her hand on his arm, gratitude washing over her for the team's loyalty, for Cho's smarts. "Cho, it's Jane. Just Jane. We'll be fine. Sophie Miller's in the loop if I need help."

Cho nodded, wheeled and returned to his desk. By then Rigsby was walking back, awkwardly making small talk with Jane. Hints of uncertainty, eagerness, and fear belied the consultant's nonchalant mask. His gaze sought and stayed on Lisbon.

She unconsciously squared her shoulders. "Com'on, Jane. It's a long ride. We'll get fast food on the way." Jane trailed her closely as they disappeared from view.

Cho sighed. Jane was more trouble than a half dozen agents combined, but solved cases no one else could. Professionally and personally, he fervently hoped Lisbon would return with the Jane they knew. Cho set it aside to focus on doing something useful. He'd wrap up Satterfield and put the S&L details in order. Lisbon would have to figure out what to do about the missing cash. With the S&L case solved and a 3-day holiday weekend ahead, the other team wouldn't mind waiting till next week.

Once in the SUV and on the road Lisbon's tension eased. Now Jane couldn't leave and she had a plan that might solve this nightmare. They got fast food at a drive-through. Neither wanted to go in so she parked rather than drive while eating. She surreptitiously watched, simultaneously hopeful and apprehensive. His body language said, "relaxed and at ease," except for constantly worrying his wedding band.

Balling up the fast food bag he tossed it in the trash through the open window. "You are transparent, my dear. I'm not going to detonate." He grinned, "Though you might with how tightly wound you are. Chill."

"I am not – oh, never mind. And stop reading me."

"Automatic." He huffed, "Has to be or I would have starved long ago."

Interest piqued, "Oh?" She glanced at him before pulling onto the highway, heading to I-5.

He tilted his head looked at her, eyes narrowed, slightly smiling at the opportunity. "Curious, huh? I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Jane, I'm not going against Dr. Miller's orders."

Easy smile, "Had to try. –If you won't tell me about me, how about talking about your team and working together?"

Cautiously, "I guess that would be okay. It is a long drive." She smoothly merged with traffic on I-5 heading south.

Instantly, "How long?"

"Six hours, give or take."

"LA, then. Don't suppose you'll say why..."

She tensed, then relaxed. "No. What do you want to know about the SCU?"

He looked out the passenger window, the better to conceal. "I'm intrigued to find myself working with cops. –You know I'm a fake psychic, that I flirt with that legal/illegal line. How? Why?"

While careful of traffic and her driving, her mind looked years into the past. "It's surreal how well you read people." She stole a look out of the corner of her eye. "You know human failings. And you pick up details better than most detectives."

"'Most'?" He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

She frowned then realized he was teasing. Firmly, "Most. Anyhow, those abilities are pretty useful for figuring out who's guilty."

"How do I do that?"

She snorted, "You just did. Rile 'em up, read 'em, nail 'em."

Fishing, "And how does your straight-edge team like working with a co– a fake psychic?"

Serious now, "It took a while. At first it was a pissing match between you and the guys. Who can solve it first." At his raised eyebrows she added, "Van Pelt's the rookie, joined later."

"But?"

She grinned, "But now it's my turn."

"Fire away."

She fell silent for a few miles. Is it fair to ask? Eh, he offered. I'll stay away from anything Angela. "You told us you grew up in a carnival." He looked slightly surprised at the 'us.' "Why or how did you come to leave? And then what?"

He shifted in his seat to watch her face as she drove. "I did grow up a carny. Had an act with my ol' man. Took off at 16 after a big fight."

As usual, hides more than he shows. "How'd you manage at 16? Friends, family?"

He shook his head. "I had a little money saved." He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "My father always handled the till, another way to control me." He blinked. Too heavy, too revealing. "Anyhow, I hustled pool and cards, took odd jobs." He shrugged, "It was enough. Kept me fed. Scraped up money for good clothes and started performing in bars." His lips twitched. "By then I was old enough to be in bars."

"Performing?"

"You saw. Psychic readings." Quick grin, "Entertaining, believable, especially for half-bombed audiences."

"And?"

"And my turn to ask. Tell me about your Three Musketeers, them and me."

Lisbon swiped her upper lip with her tongue, considering how to answer. "Cho and I used to work in SFPD together."

Jane moved it along, "You were a rising star, got the gig at the CBI and brought him with. –Ex-gang member. How's that work? Why's he willing to work with me?"

She blinked, aggravated she'd forgotten how much Jane would know even without remembering. "He quit the gang, served in the Army, went to work for SFPD. And yes, he was my first hire. Cho," she took a breath, "is all about results. You get results, he respects you."

Jane scratched his jaw and added with a smile, "B-u-t doesn't take any crap from me – or anyone." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"Rigsby?"

Mulling her team's qualities as much as answering Jane's question, "Rigsby is a solid detective and an exceptional arson investigator."

Jane frowned, "Has to know chemistry for that, right?" She nodded. "So smarter than he comes across."

She grimaced at his characterization, then reluctantly nodded. "Don't underestimate him. He pulls his weight."

"But doesn't have a clue how to deal with me." He smirked.

Sharply, "You constantly tease and trick him. He admires how clever you are. And how you solve cases."

Now serious, "He chose to be a cop after a rough background. Disappointed because he thinks I took the cash."

Still dissembling, unwilling to admit he stole it. She glared. "Jane."

He raised his hands in surrender, "Okay, that's a whole other discussion. -And Gingersnaps – Van Pelt ?"

Her lips quirked. "'Gingersnaps'? Don't let her hear that! Van Pelt is the newest, but not a rookie anymore. Very smart, computer whiz, serious about her career." She sighed. "Can't help seeing the best in people–"

"–except she got burned by someone recently?"

Soberly, "She was. I hope she gets over it."

"And seeing, wanting to see the best in everyone explains her outrage."

Quietly, "Yes it does."

Jane nervously caught his tongue between his lips. "So I've p.o.'d everyone on your team. What does that do for this delightful team spirit?"

Mocking because he's afraid. Severely, "You'll have to fix it." Of course he's scared. Knocking around solo, losing a decade, we're all he's got.

He affected diffidence. His eyes betrayed worry. "Possible?"

She turned to look him in the face. "Wouldn't be the first time. But, yeah, you could fix it."

"And what–"

"My turn," she interrupted. "So you figured out how to survive. What next, what did you aim for?"

Lightly. "The usual. Fame and fortune."

Neutrally. "Seriously? And?"

He swallowed. "And something stable, permanent. Carny life gets old. Scraping by, always traveling, barely tolerated by the good solid citizens. Standard stuff."

Lisbon signaled and pulled off to a rest area. "Pit stop."

Jane stirred and reached for his cup. "I could use more coffee. Vending machines have come a ways ... since I last remember."

She set the parking break, then hesitated. Should have listened to Cho. How do I do this without him taking off?

Amused, he answered her unspoken fear, "Said I'd come with. I won't leave. Com'on." He got out. She followed a moment later and hoped for the best.

Jane finished quickly and exited the men's room. He stretched and looked around. Stick with Teresa or hitch with a trucker? Who am I kidding? I got nothin' except bad memories coming my way. The pay is a joke, but I can make extra by gambling. I stayed four years so there must be something worthwhile. Still doesn't make sense though...

"Jane!"

He turned and waved. Lisbon hurried over.

"Hit the vending machines?"

"Waiting for you. And, uh–" he looked sheepish, "no money, remember?"

She nodded, biting back a comment about giving his money to his 'date.' "You can owe me."

Lisbon and Jane were soon back on the road. They'd driven about 20 minutes when Jane reopened the conversation.

"You tell me this teamwork thing works but it doesn't make sense."

"Why not?"

"I close cases. –Not enough for cops to tolerate someone as far outside their comfort zone as I am."

"Oh." The SUV ate up a dozen miles while she thought. "Don't underestimate how much closing cases matters. Why we're cops. But you're right, there is more to it. Law enforcement is dangerous. Everyone on the team has protected you, even saved your life working on cases."

"–But-"

"–You have done the same for us."

That prompted a chuckle. "You're kidding. Can't see myself protecting you all – you know, the cops with training and guns?"

She threw him a dirty look. "There are other ways than using a gun or beating someone up."

Still grinning, "Yeah?"

Evenly, "You figure things out faster and better than anyone. That's a big advantage in the field. Figuring out the killer from the smell of pineapple saved my life. Cho blamed himself when a key informant skipped out, but you accepted responsibility instead. You figured out who killed Cho's best friend and kept him from destroying his career. And himself. Rigsby was hypnotized by a murderer. You were the only one who would have known and you stopped him before he threw you off the roof. You cleared Van Pelt for a witness's murder." She sighed at the still-raw memory. "Recently, you figured out her fiancé was working for a serial killer-"

"–Ouch! No wonder she feels burned."

Softly, "And you stayed when a perp strapped me in a bomb vest."

Jane's eyebrows rose, "Obviously it worked out. -Threats, fatal falls, bombs. Sounds like a fun occupation. How could I resist?"

"You like the challenge of solving cases and delivering justice." She ignored Jane rolling his eyes. "And, well, despite how grim it sounds, we often do have fun. A lot of that is you. Card and magic tricks, mind games, twitting the bigwigs," she scowled, "creating mountains of complaints I have to answer."

"Specifics, Teresa?"

"You made $300,000 at a poker game to trip up a murderer. We investigated the murder of a researcher working on a 'morality engine' that would make people more ethical–"

"-Did it work?"

"No." She continued her recollections. "Against my express orders, you stole back a painting from a Russian mobster and got me in trouble with the State Department."

Eyes twinkling with delight, "Do I detect a pattern of rule breaking?"

She snorted loudly. "Rule breaking? More like they're suggestions you follow when it's convenient. Sheep dip! You even broke out of jail to prove a point. I had to strong arm a colleague and make apologies to half of Sacramento law enforcement to save your ass from that one!"

"But I solved the case?"

"You did." She fell silent.

"Something happened connected to that. Something bad."

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Not because of you." She shook off the memories. "Your unique and often illegal methods get results and, I have to admit, make life more interesting." Her eyes caught his gaze before turning back to the road. Softly, "Jane, you help close cases faster than we otherwise would and close some no one else could. You're a valued member of the team, liked by us all – when you're not pissing us off. A good man–" her nose twitched, "despite yourself."

He huffed then grinned. "Maybe I should ask for a raise. –I know cops don't take government jobs for the money, but California's getting a bargain."

"Feels that way sometimes."

"And us, Teresa?"

Stiffly, "I'm your boss, Jane. A personal relationship would be inappropriate."

He nodded, disbelieving. "Uh-huh. Keep saying it and maybe you'll believe it." She grimaced but said nothing.

They lapsed into silence. So these cops have saved my ass, probably in dangerous situations. And I've returned the favor. There's something to all this or neither side would bother. Fancy that. Teresa knows I'm a fake, but doesn't care since I solve cases. Damned if it doesn't sound like fun. More fun than reading half-drunk women at bars twice a night. Still don't 'get' the situation with Teresa. She's ... interesting. Tough cop, compassionate woman who does her best to hide it. I want to know more..."

Conversation was desultory from then on, about everything and nothing. Jane accepted he wouldn't get answers to his burning personal questions. No choice but to trust Teresa. She obviously hoped he'd get his memories back. He swung wildly between hope and dread, though the lure of friendship, belonging to something, belonging to someone eased the prospect of remembering something horrible.

Lisbon assiduously avoided talking about Jane's background or anything remotely connected to Red John. Jane's missing memories eliminated whole swaths of topics for small talk. She ended up talking about her bosses and former bosses, CBI colleagues, forensic science, and police training. Through it all, Jane fidgeted ceaselessly with his ring, at times crossing his arms to still his hands.

A couple of hours from LA Jane started sprinkling references to nearby towns and suburbs. Lisbon caught on, but reacted anyhow when Jane mentioned Malibu.

"Malibu, huh? That explains the town ending in 'u' on my driver's license." Her alarm was palpable. Teasing, "Hey. I'm on my way to the gallows, not you. It's okay, Teresa." Rather than lightening up she looked even more stricken. He sighed and tried not to think as he watched the scenery race by.

Tension grew when they left the interstate to drive local roads toward Malibu. Twilight slowly smothered daylight's embers as the SUV snaked along the coast highway. Business strips predictably punctuated the miles. Jane unconsciously leaned forward by the time Lisbon turned off, turned left up along the bluffs toward homes of breath-taking ocean vistas and equally breath-taking prices. She pulled past a screen of trees into a driveway and parked in front of a modern house that rested gracefully atop the bluff. Large, unlit windows blankly stared out of the striking house. Nobody home.

Exiting the SUV, they stretched away the stiffness of the long ride. Jane looked over the house, smiling in appreciation. "Great house."* They mounted the concrete steps. "Whose is it?"*

"It's yours. Give me your keys."*

"Okay."* His smile widened, pleasure supplanting worry about why he was here. He'd done it. Made it out of poverty and the rootless carny life. This house told him he'd achieved the material success he'd coveted.

Lisbon unlocked the door and they silently entered the dim house, empty except for a foyer table and – jarringly – a child's tricycle. Jane swallowed nervously as he blindly followed Lisbon. They mounted the open stairwell, moonlight from the skylight sufficient to guide their steps.

Dread settled over Jane as he climbed the stairs, more unnerved with every step. Lisbon moved aside when they reached the top and he walked the short distance to the bedrooms. A door was closed at the end of the hall. Jane hesitated, anxiously looking back at Lisbon. He forced himself to turn the knob.

Moonlight gleamed off the faded brown smiley face, dried blood stark against the white wall. He slumped, barely managing to stand. A tsunami of red crashed over him, buffeting him, drowning him in sorrow as the horrific murders of his wife and daughter were made new.

"I'm sorry,"* whispered Lisbon, seared by revisiting anguish on the man she respected and loved more than she dared admit.

Jane wavered, crushed, consumed by an ocean of blood. He staggered toward the wall, whether to touch the blood or abase himself beneath, he didn't know. He paused at the mattress, near collapse except–

"-No!" Lisbon protested instinctively at thought of him trapped in that evil and horror. Quick steps took her to his side and she drew his arm around her shoulders, her small frame taking much of his weight. She led him from the wall, out of the grief-saturated, nightmare-filled room. Jane numbly followed, looking back over his shoulder, vision oddly doubled, brown overlaid with bright crimson, bare floor obscured by slain daughter and eviscerated wife, stomach roiling at the heavy scent of blood and gore, dust and stale air.

Halfway down the hall Jane jerked away. He fell to his knees before the toilet in the hall bathroom, heaving helplessly into the toilet bowl till his throat burned with bile and acid. Eventually the torture of dry heaves subsided and Lisbon helped him up. He leaned against the sink, cupping his hand to rinse his mouth and ease the sick burning with water. Jane dried his mouth with the back of his hand as Lisbon flushed away the vomit.

Somehow they made it out without falling down the stairs. Lisbon gently nudged Jane into the passenger seat where he collapsed as much as sat. She helped get his feet in then fastened the seatbelt. She hurriedly locked the house door and slid into the driver's seat.

Softly, "Jane?" she asked, her hand on his shoulder.

He looked up dully, eyes bottomless pools of misery.

"Do you remember Sophie Miller? Do you want her help?"

His forehead creased in confusion then smoothed with recognition. His hoarse whisper refused, "No. Just go back ... home. Sacramento."

It was late. Both were exhausted. Regardless, Lisbon was driven to leave, to distance Jane from the horror of Malibu in every way possible. They finished the five-and-a-half hour drive in five hours, Lisbon grimly staying awake on caffeine, sugar, and tension. Four hundred miles lapsed with not a word from Jane, who huddled against the passenger door, holding himself together with arms wrapped around his chest. The black sky opened and a deluge poured forth as they entered Sacramento.

Lisbon pulled into the parking space in front of her townhouse and killed the engine. Bone tired, her forehead dropped against the steering wheel as numb hands fell to her lap. Five minutes later she mustered the energy to move and resigned herself to getting drenched by the continuing downpour. She was too tired to rush and staying dry was too futile a hope in the stinging, cold rain. She trod round to the passenger door. Her hand on his arm, Jane walked to the front door with her. They stumbled in. She closed and bolted the door. Jane leaned against the wall, dripping silently.

"Jane, com'on. I'll get you dry clothes. You can use the guest bedroom."

They trudged up the stairs. She sat him on the closed toilet seat in the hall bathroom. She got towels, toothpaste and a new toothbrush, and found the sweat pants and t-shirt Tommy had left after his last visit.

"Dry off and put these on. I'll be back." She hoped Jane would manage that while she changed in the bathroom off her bedroom.

She knocked. "Jane?" She took the "mmph" as liberty to enter and was relieved to find Jane in dry clothes. Anxiously, "Do you want tea? Sleeping pills, anything?" He looked up but didn't answer. His eyes bloodshot and dull with fatigue and grief, she decided sleep was Jane's most pressing need. "Bed it is." She took one hand from where he had them trapped between his knees. She tugged gently and he rose and followed. Five minutes later Jane was in bed, eyes closed, face slack with exhaustion.

"Get some sleep." She tucked the blanket around his shoulders, his skin still cool to the touch from the rain. She hesitated, then brushed her lips to his forehead and left. Lisbon closed his bedroom door but left hers ajar to be sure she'd hear if he stirred.

She crawled into bed. Despite bone melting weariness, sleep eluded her for nearly an hour. Jane remembered. Those memories dragged him back seven years to the gutted shell he'd been when he came to the CBI. She prayed he wouldn't again endure torturous years of healing to get back to where he'd been a mere four days ago.

The black of nothingness claimed her.