Uh. Yeah. I don't know.

Warnings and disclaimers from previous chapters still apply. Typos, commas... etc.

Chapter 5

After a dumbfounded few moments, Lisbon stepped back from the door and let Cho slip past. Then she watched in distant horror as, with a well-practiced precision, Jane slipped even further behind a mask. He smiled a wide smile and extended a hand to greet their old friend, pulling Cho in for a quick pat on the back. At their feet, Nora cried out but Jane made no move to soothe her. Instead he retreated to the kitchen to warm a bottle.

Frustration warred with anger and Lisbon quickly scooped up the fussy baby from the pin.

"She's gotten big," Cho offered. Nora tucked her head against her mother's shoulder as Lisbon continued to sway. "I take it Jane didn't tell you he called."

"Are you surprised?" Lisbon turned Nora in her arms as she continued to wriggle.

"Not really." Cho held out a finger for the baby to grasp but she quickly grew uninterested. Instead, she turned once more, searching for her father, happy once he came into view. She kicked against Lisbon and tipped forward, towards Jane who only held out the warmed bottle.

"Take her." Lisbon's voice was low but even as she held the baby out. Jane shook his head, again not meeting his wife's eyes. She remained steadfast. "Patrick, take your daughter and give her the bottle."

He took half a step back, the bottle beginning to slip from his hand.

"I can't." She heard the pain in his voice, the tell-tale crack as he struggled to hold his emotions in check. Then setting the bottle on the nearest surface, he retreated down the hall.

"Give her here." Cho took the baby from Lisbon's grasp with gentle ease, picked up the bottle and settled in a nearby chair.

Lisbon found Jane in their room, his back pressed against the farthest wall, hands braced on his thighs as he focused on making his breath even out.

"I'd ask if you want to talk about it," Lisbon started, "but that implies I'm giving you a choice."

Jane stood straighter. He looked in her direction, but he still wasn't really looking at her. She moved closer.

"What's this really about, Jane? That note? Sure, it was creepy but there was something else." She reached up to touch him, ran her fingers along his neck in an attempt to soothe. His skin was hot to the touch, no doubt from the anxiety and adrenaline, and she wondered if he'd always been like this. If she had offered a gentle touch all those years ago would his skin have felt so feverish, then, too?

He flinched away from her. "Don't."

The word cut. The tears stung but she held herself together. They weren't leaving this room until he told her what was wrong. She would barrel down all those barriers he tried to construct. They were partners in every way imaginable. He'd promised…

The hurt turned to frustration, then to anger. With a force she typically reserved for tackling perps, she pinned his shoulders to the wall and moved into his line of vision.

"You will tell me what this is about." She left no room for arguing. Jane took in a shuddering breath.

"There will be time to murder and create. And for the works and days of hands." He spoke the lines of the poem evenly and with detachment, still not looking up at her.

"That poem, right? What does it mean?" She gripped his shoulders, not caring if it hurt. It seemed he didn't either.

"In the poem? Doesn't matter. What does matter is that the person who left it on our kitchen window left it with a clear intent."

Lisbon frowned, still not following. Jane looked away, curled and then unfurled his fingers. His tell. But this time, it seemed he was lost in a memory.

"Time to murder and create," he repeated, looking down at his hands, palms up as if in prayer. "I never told you, did, I? What I did all those years ago."

Dread slipped through her. Lisbon had seen the official FBI report back when she was in Washington, had read the notes from the scene and the autopsy. She had memorized the sketches of the body, had seen the drawings of the wounds. They were impersonal drawings covered in the coroner's illegible handwriting, but she didn't have to read the words to know the story. She shouldn't have been given access to the files, but a friend of a friend had pulled some strings. She'd pored over that file until she had it memorized, until she could see the entire scene behind her closed eyes as she tried to drift off to sleep. It haunted her that she hadn't been there to stop him. In the end, she hadn't cared if McAllister had lived to see a trial. The system was so corrupt, he'd have walked or escaped. She didn't care that he was dead. What she cared about was the damage it had caused Jane to take another life. And at night, when the details of the case wouldn't leave her long enough to fall asleep, she prayed Patrick Jane would find peace.

Two weeks later, the first of Jane's letters arrived and the details of the Red John file slipped further from her mind, replaced with stories of dolphins and beaches, of eggs cooked too runny and fragmented Spanish. She found it easier to sleep.

Then in a blink, he was back, and they were together but apart. Then together, then a family… All the while they'd never once discussed the event in the park on that sunny afternoon all those years ago. It'd never really crossed her mind that he'd want to talk about it. Although, in retrospect, she should've known better. His typical mode of operation was to avoid and let heavy topics fester until it was nearly too late. It makes me happy to be able to say that to you.

The lines of poetry, the image of the menacing hand holding a bird… It all started to make sense.

"Jane," she spoke softly, curling her hand into his. This time he didn't flinch away. "You think I don't know?"

He looked up at her with watery eyes. "How can I hold our daughter with these hands? How can I hold you?"

Swallowing back a sob, she slipped closer to him, pressed her body against his. "You've been doing pretty well, up until now, Jane."

"You know what I mean, Teresa."

"All of that's in the past. It doesn't matter now. It just so happens someone is pressing on our weak spots. That's all. I happen to be pretty partial to those hands." She smiled softly. "Although you should probably talk to someone—"

"I hardly think that's wise, given my history." He practically rolled his eyes.

"Well, we'll start the therapy at home, then. How's that?" She pressed a kiss to his throat and then stepped back. "For example, Nora is most likely going to need a diaper change and Cho is going to be very unhappy if he's left to deal with it."

"Ah, I think he'd surprise you. He's a pro with babies."

"No doubt, but he's also our guest. Your guest, really, since I had no idea you'd called in the cavalry."

Jane sighed and reached out to clasp Lisbon's hand. She took that as a positive sign.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to have such a reaction."

"We've had a lot thrown at us in the last forty-eight hours. I think a reaction was inevitable." She squeezed his fingers. "But next time, don't pull away."

"I panicked."

"I noticed."

"Yeah," he gave a half-smile. "You did."

Jane leaned forward to kiss her, but was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe.

"Your kid needs a diaper change." Cho held the baby out in front of him like he was holding an explosive that might detonate. She kicked her legs happily, and he winced.

"Hand her over," Jane pushed off from the wall and removed his suit jacket, tossing it on the bed. With one overly dramatic flourish, he scooped his daughter up and noisily kissed her cheek. The baby squealed with delight.

As Jane left to tend to Nora, Lisbon let out a shaky sigh.

"I'm really glad you're here." She pulled Cho into a tight, friendly hug.

xXx

Jane, Lisbon and Cho sat around the living room, a lunch of pepperoni pizza and soda spread out on the coffee table. Nora napped in her play pen, her father sitting nearby.

"How do you know this girl is telling the truth?" Cho washed down a mouthful of pizza with a gulp of soda.

"We don't." Lisbon was beginning to have her own doubts about Audrey's story. It all seemed too neat, too coincidental. Initially, she had been willing to accept the idea that Teddy had seen her at The Turquoise Teacup and, like any self-respecting psycho, did a quick internet search on the owner. There were entire websites built around the mythos and lore of Red John, and by extension Jane. No doubt some ghoul had access to the autopsy files and uploaded the cause-of-death to the websites—after all, Lisbon had managed to get her hands on a copy. She tried to remain detached as she remembered what she'd read so long ago. There were ligature marks from around the throat, there were pigeon feathers in the abdomen wound. But that didn't explain the Visualize symbol. Her thoughts drifted to Brett Styles… Could this be the handiwork of a devout follower, finally seeking revenge for his leader's untimely death?

"It's a hunch." Jane spoke up. "I have a hunch she isn't involved. Not directly at least." Nora shifted and sighed in her sleep and he reached over to adjust her soft pink blanket.

"And because you're you we should trust this hunch?" Cho offered. There was no sarcasm in his tone, just acceptance and long-standing knowledge.

"Something like that."

"No, not something like that. Why should we trust her?" Lisbon wasn't so quick to acquiesce. "She showed up out of nowhere and threw our lives into a tailspin. You can't tell me that's a coincidence."

"I've no doubt there is something sinister at work here, but I think she is but a pawn in it. I'm not exactly sure how or why. Not yet. But there was real fear in her eyes at the station yesterday."

"Where is she now?" From his place on the floor, Cho leaned back against the sofa, arms crossed against his chest. A stuffed toy elephant loomed over his shoulder and for a moment, Lisbon was struck by the surreal sight. My how times had changed over the last fifteen years. No longer were they discussing a case in the bullpen of the CBI, or even the conference room of the FBI office in Austin. Instead, they were spread out in her living room while Jane rested his hand on their sleeping daughter's belly.

Jane cell phone vibrated with an incoming call and he frowned before answering.

"The police station, being held on some bogus vandalism charge for her own safety," Lisbon whispered, her attention divided between answering Cho and listening to Jane's call. In under a minute, Jane was hanging up and standing.

"Uh, no, it seems she is no longer being held at the police station." Jane gently lifted Nora and placed her in her car seat. She didn't stir. "That was our friend Deputy Caulfield calling on behalf of the Sheriff's Department to let us know that Audrey Collins broke out of her cell about an hour ago. Or rather someone broke her out. He was a little foggy on the details. I expect that was on purpose."

Lisbon bolted to her feet. "What do you mean someone broke her out?"

"Just that." Given the news, Jane was surprisingly calm as he lifted the car seat and grabbed the diaper bag. "I told the deputy we were on our way to take a look around the station. He seemed to think that wasn't necessary, but, well, that's hardly likely to stop me, is it?"

With a wide gesture, he motioned for Lisbon and Cho to follow before locking the door behind them.

xXx