Author's Note: I'm sicker than a dog and have been for a long while. SO- hopefully this makes sense and isn't just the delusional ramblings of fever. I promise nothing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and would not be foolish enough to claim to.

Life, for Jane, changed after that. All of his thoughts and energies, his very existence, seemed to shift and alter, with a whole new focal point coming to rest with a hard jolt right at it's center.

Lisbon.

That's all that she was labeled as in his mind, was just 'Lisbon', even though he did try to learn her first name. He really did. He just didn't put as much concentration into it as he normally might have, because for some reason he didn't quite understand, he wanted her to be the one to tell him. He wanted the connection, liked that the mystery was being unwrapped one little revelation at a time and she was the one that was letting him in. She was the most complex mystery he had ever come across.

What could he say, he loved a challenge.

For the next few days, he just concentrated on enjoying every second he got to be near her, every glance they shared. He hovered near her track meets after school, occasionally chatting up Tommy in the stands and she seemed to enjoy seeing there. He lingered too long in their classes just to talk to her and tease her, because she was absolutely adorable and beautiful when she flushed a dark crimson. He found himself seeking her out at every opportunity, consciously or not. And what he discovered the more he was in her presence, was that he was incredibly, irrevocably enchanted.

He was ridiculously lost- to the flash of her emerald eyes from beneath her dark hair. The delicate smell of flowers, cinnamon, and just a hint of stale whiskey off her clothes. The occasionally quirk of her lips, a rare gesture she reserved for people she seemed to enjoy being around.

Of course, her foot against the back of his chair, hovering near his spine... that was what he was hooked on the most. It was like a drug. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control his body's visceral reaction to her proximity. His heart raced too fast, his nerves tingled. It made it hard to concentrate, even though he wanted to be at his best to impress her. She was incredibly hard to impress too, and he had the sneaky suspicion that she knew it too. She made his heart leap every time she was near.

In short- Lisbon was driving him insane.

That wasn't all though, no. He noticed a change in Lisbon too, one that he approved of greatly. He had become the first one her eyes sought out when they had a class together. She'd sit and begin talking to Grace Van Pelt or to Cho, Summer, or even Rigsby, and then turn to him to get his opinion. Included him.

It was like coming out into the sun after being locked in the shadows.

As it usually did, life fell into a routine, even for him. He slipped into a sort of calm, peaceful world, filled with days of Lisbon and nights with Mrs. Ruskin and he loved every minute of it. He somehow ceased being the boy wonder and became consumed by something he'd never let himself believe he would ever feel or find.

Not that he was ready to admit it. Mostly because he wasn't ready to name it out loud and risk it being destroyed. This feeling inside of him was like a sapling, fragile and new- a part of him that seemed to have atrophied over time with lack of use. He was too cautious to test it just yet. Too desperate to just pull it out into the harsh light of a cruel world where it might wither. He'd bide his time, get to know Lisbon better. Listen to more of Ms. Ruskin's stories. Maybe, when he got out of the mess he'd found himself in, he'd be able to ask Lisbon out on a date. He'd use every trick of the trade remorselessly to get her to say yes.

On a cold, frosty autumn night, he put on Brahm's Concerto in D major and slipped out the window of his bedroom. Ostensibly, it was to use the pay phone at the convenience store again to make the call, but really, he just peered at the bar across the street, trying to spot Lisbon.

To his disappointment, she wasn't there, but as he walked slowly and sorrowfully back across the street, he did spot someone that he knew.

Near the bar he could see Summer's curly pink hair, half-hidden behind the mass of an SUV. She was being yelled at by a large, beefy gentleman who seemed like a great deal less than a gentleman.

Jane thought about stepping in since she seemed nervous, maybe talking the guy into walking away, but that was when Cho showed up.

The low-riding car he was in screeched as he pulled up quickly and jumped out. The kid started yelling back at the man harassing Summer, even though Summer herself tried to pull him away from the argument. The man made a loud comment followed by a rude gesture and before Jane could blink, Cho was already taking a high swing at the guy.

It was a nice hit, one that knocked the guy flat, but Summer didn't seem impressed. She shouted at Cho, shoved him, and rushed away.

Without moving a muscle, Jane watched Cho follow silently, but he didn't interfere. He was curious, yes, but until he knew what kind of trouble Summer was in, he couldn't do anything about it. Maybe that was something he could talk about with Lisbon.

Instead, he made the long walk back to Ms. Ruskin's, not even realizing that the lights were still shining from the old woman's windows.