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

By the time Jane made it out the door, he could see Lisbon's back already disappearing around the corner of the house, hair billowing. Hoarse yelling assaulted the air, breaking the afternoon quiet as effectively as a gunshot. Panic pounding out his heartbeat in the sound of a galloping horse, he tore after where his friend had gone as fast as he could. A heavy slap of skin on skin echoed off the concrete as he rounded the corner and when he stumbled his way onto the paved driveway, he practically skidded to a stop, one hand on the side of the house for support. He was stuck, unable to move. Unable to think beyond taking in the scene in front of him.

Down at the end of the drive, leaning against the garage door, James had his head cocked to one side, mouth slightly agape. It looked like blood trickled from his bottom lip down his chin. He was breathing harshly, the gasps leaving his chest in heaving gulps. His fists were clenched and his whole body shook, though with what emotion it wasn't clear.

Mr. Lisbon stood in front of him. Well, stood might have been a strong word for the wobble he was trying to hold up, even as he grabbed the front of his son's shirt and cocked his fist back.

James tensed, clutching his father's fist-full of his shirt, tearing at it angrily. He looked furious, and prepared to give as good as he got, letting out a tearing bellow.

"STOP!" Teresa's voice was rough and fearful, authoritative and pleading all at once. Without hesitation, she ran right up and got in between the two men, shoving them apart. She placed herself in front of James and directly faced her father, not so much as blinking about it.

"Reese, don't." James hissed, catching his older sister's elbow and trying to tug her out of the way.

She remained where she was.

"Muv outta the way, 'resa. Now." Mr. Lisbon growled, words slightly slurred, though his fist dropped momentarily as he fought to keep his balance.

Teresa wasn't the sort to be pushed around. She jerked her arm out of her brother's hand. "No!" She barked it so emphatically at them that Jane wondered how it didn't make them both take several steps back from her.

He would have, if only in self-preservation.

Fearfully, Lisbon glanced behind her. "Jamie, go to your room."

"You're not my mother, Ter-"

"Go to your room, NOW!" One arm pushed him in the direction of the garage.

At the same time, Mr. Lisbon lunged at James, spittle leaving his mouth as he snarled. "'Dare you talk 'bout her-"

Jane took a step toward the escalating scene, but halted abruptly.

Lisbon had grabbed her father and using all the force of her tiny frame in a way Jane couldn't believe, she shoved her father backward right into the fence and held him there. "Calm down!"

He fought against her for a moment, getting a grip in her hair that looked like it hurt, but then looked down at his daughter. As suddenly as he'd charged, he slumped against the wood, seeming drained and somehow, despite his size, small.

Unsure what he should do, Jane took a few steps forward and then stalled, shuffling his feet.

Rolling his head disgustedly while wiping at the blood on his chin, James caught sight of Jane hovering near the house.

They shared stares neither seemed able to break until Teresa's voice brought them around.

"Please, go to your room." She reached up and took hold of her father's face, forcing him to look at her eyes and only hers. "Jamie, go now." Teresa growled at her brother.

James made a face like he was holding off tears of frustration and stalked toward the garage.

"Hey, hey." Teresa was saying gently.

Jane looked back at her and saw the two remaining Lisbon's locked in a kind of trance.

Mr. Lisbon's eyes were starting to swim with tears. He released his painful hold on his daughter's hair and framed her head with his large palms, rocking them both slightly.

Standing frozen to the spot, Jane watched the transformation with a kind of sick fascination. Because, somehow, there was something in the way they interacted that pierced through the anger. Somehow, Teresa's gaze was getting through her father's drunken haze.

He thought about the photograph he'd examined earlier, the drawing he'd seen in their art class- of two emerald points on the paper.

Her mother's eyes.

Teresa had her mother's eyes.

"Calm down." She was whispering. Her hand reached up and gripped one of her father's, pulling it to drape his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Dad. Let's get you inside."

"'M thirsty." Mr. Lisbon opened his eyes extra wide, as if fighting off sleep. He stumbled, even leaning into his daughter as much as he was.

"There's a beer in the fridge, and there's a game on." Teresa sounded like she was cajoling a child into doing what she wanted. Like she had done it so many times before.

Too many times before.

When Mr. Lisbon stumbled again, almost sending the two of them to the ground, Jane finally unfroze and stepped forward. Taking the right side, he draped the older man's other arm over his shoulder and together, he and Teresa managed to get him into the house. They dropped him into the old armchair.

Teresa picked up the controller and switched on the TV to a sports game. While Jane looked on, she set her father up in the living room, even putting a blanket over his legs. She vanished into the kitchen and he could hear her say something to Tommy.

There was a soft answering voice, sounding like an affirmative.

Coming back into the living room, she had a beer and a glass of water in hand, both of which she set on the end table near the arm of the chair. All set up, so he didn't need to move, Mr. Lisbon took a swallow of beer and leaned back in his chair. He blinked rapidly to be able to focus on the screen.

That done, Teresa turned.

He swallowed. Somehow, though he knew it wasn't his fault, Jane felt like he was intruding again. Not only that, he wasn't entirely sure he could leave, or if he even should.

Lisbon tucked the left side of her dark behind her ear and approached Jane almost hesitantly. "Thanks, Patrick." She whispered.

He nodded, following her lead in keeping his voice down at a volume below the TV. "'Course." Their eyes met briefly, but they both looked away just as quickly.

"Sorry."

"Look-"

They both stopped and chuckled humorlessly.

"You- were about to leave." She reminded him, trying to smile but failing utterly.

Jane hesitated. "I could stay." He looked behind her to where her father sat.

She did too, frowning. Her eyes darted back to him, color rising to tinge her cheeks. Suddenly, as if she was giving in to an impulse, she reached out and took his hand, using it to pull him with her to the front door. Opening it quietly, she slipped out, tugging him with her out onto the porch.

All Jane could think was that her hand was really warm and just as soft as ever.

She spun, letting go of him and closed the door softly behind them to give them privacy. For a long moment, all she did was rest her forehead against the door. As though she was gathering her strength. Her voice, once she finally spoke, shook. "He-He's not always like that. Just when he gets drunk sometimes he can't... his temper just gets away with him."

Not caring that it brought him close enough to feel the warmth of her, Jane stepped closer. "He hurts you."

There was silence.

His keen eyes raked over her head and saw a small spot of blood in her dark hair. Trembling with emotion- pain and helplessness, he hovered his hand over the spot, afraid to make contact and hurt her more. That was all he seemed to do, was wound people.

Without looking, Lisbon seemed to sense the presence of his palm. She leaned slightly toward his fingertips. Slightly toward him. Like she wanted him to touch her, even if it hurt.

The breathless moment shattered when Mr. Lisbon yelled at the TV inside.

Teresa drew away. Her breath huffed. "Someone just missed a pass." She turned slowly on the spot, but kept her gaze down, mouth working a little as she searched for something to say. "He'll, uh, be okay now. Trust me." Her eyes wouldn't meet his.

"Teresa." He breathed her name, letting his agony for her surface. His heart was so much a mix of feelings, it wasn't hard to let it crack his facade. At least, not for her.

She finally looked up, meeting his eyes through her lashes.

The way her emerald orbs shone in the light caught his heart and tugged at it.

"Really, Patrick." She managed a sweet smile. "He'll stay there all night till he passes out. You-" She looked down to her feet again. "You don't need to worry."

"I'll worry just for the heck of it then." He smiled.

Eyes closing, she laughed quietly. The sound was too short, but heartening.

Maybe she would be alright. For now.

"So, uh, I guess I should get going." He stepped back, putting space enough between them for them both to take deep breaths at last.

He shook himself, his limbs tingling. Would it always be like this? The lack of something able to take all the air away from them? Both afraid to even look at each other for long? Jane stepped down the single step onto the front walk, but turned back to look at Teresa lingering at the threshold, her back against the door. Curse him, but he just couldn't leave well enough alone. He had the most awful feeling about just leaving her. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

"Drew might not be up for it." She answered, smiling at him sadly and leaning her head against the lintel as she bit her lower lip. "I could... I mean, if you wanted, we could- always meet. You know, somewhere that isn't school- or here?"

He didn't quite know what to say.

"I've got this track meet tomorrow." She shrugged. "It's been planned for a while and my brothers are supposed to come. We're gonna be at the stadium downtown, were they have the full track-"

Jane grinned. "Why Teresa, was that an invitation?"

She colored, rolling her head. "Do you want to come or not?"

He lost his ability to think. "Yeah." It was a breathy whisper that gave away too much, but he couldn't help it. Her blushes might just be the death of him.

No. Surely it would be her smiles. "Okay, Jane." She grabbed the door. "Five O'clock. Don't be late."

The wood closed on him, but he was already turning away, his lungs compressed and heart doing an odd kind of tap upon his sternum.

When he reached the sidewalk, he stopped. How was he going to get home?

More importantly, was that a date they had just made?