A/N: I know this is short, but it's powerful. I'm sorry it's been awhile, I've been so busy it's crazy, but I owe my dedicated readers, so this is for all of you. The lyrics throughout are "Try" by Pink.

Sangre

Ever wonder bout what he's doing

How it all turned to lies

Sometimes I think that it's better

To never ask why…

XOX

Lisbon refused to let the pictures get to her. She could pretend as if all were well in the world. She could pretend they were getting somewhere, yet another two weeks later and a case that had them constantly on their toes seemed anything but loathe to interfere.

The kind of case even Jane was having a hard time solving.

A teenage girl had been missing for three days before her body had been found, laid out in a white dress, a far cry from the workout clothing she'd last been seen wearing, on a pile of pristine white feathers of all things. She'd been stabbed multiple times, easily the cause of death.

They were all well distracted. Van Pelt was hunting down every cyber lead she could possibly find. Cho was interrogating their suspects a second time around, while Rigsby doggedly ran over any similar previous victims backgrounds for the third consecutive stretch.

She'd taken Jane to the murder site once again per his request, but nothing clicked for the typically arrogant consultant. They had all the pieces, they just weren't adding up.

"Something isn't…right here," Jane murmured more to himself than to her.

She glanced over from her position leaning against a tree, cell phone in her palm ready to update her team on the nothing they'd found. "What do you mean, Jane?"

"This isn't the work of a first time killer Lisbon. It's too…neat. Too precise. Whoever did this took care to plan out his actions meticulously. How many first timers do you know have the state of mind, after killing, to clean up so neatly? This is almost familiar. It's there, I just can't place it."

"Are you sure you aren't over thinking this? We have three suspects in custody, all of which have motive."

"And all of which also have strong alibi's. Lisbon, listen to your instinct. What is your intuition telling you right now?"

She hesitated, not wanting to voice her opinion. It was an opinion too close to home, to close to revealing her well kept secret. If he were ever to find out that she had met with his nemesis, they'd be finished. She'd never see Jane again, and that was a truth she couldn't yet deal with.

She swallowed hard. "Red John."

"Exactly," he answered firmly.

"But why this elaborate ruse then? Why stage it to like someone else? He can't be trying to keep us on our game, he's already got us on his hook. And you've said it yourself, he likes his credit. Where's his mark?"

He looked away, unable to answer that specific question. Truth be told, he wasn't sure himself how Red John had done this. "It might not have been him, he has a league of followers Lisbon. Who's to say one of his many minions didn't do it?"

"Look Jane, we're all exhausted, we've barely slept. We need to step back from this or we'll go crazy looking for similarities."

He hung his head, sighing heavily as he stood from his crouched position near the ground. He crossed the short distance to her as she pocketed her cell phone, deciding that the team could wait a bit. She felt uncomfortable in these woods, a dark feeling she couldn't shake crept over her and her body tensed. He sensed her fear, looking around as if searching someone out.

"You get the feeling we're being watched." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. She nodded, the fear creeping over her skin, coating her in goosebumps. Her hand rested on her firearm, prepared to engage at any moment. If he asked what her gut was telling her now, well, her intuition was telling her to run. He placed a hand on her shoulder, still scouting their surroundings, silent, waiting.

The woods themselves had gone deafeningly quiet.

"Jane, let's go, there's nothing here," Lisbon said softly. He nodded distantly.

"Yea, you're right," he agreed, a little to readily for her nerves. She moved to grab her cell phone, this time to let the team know they were headed back when she felt the air break, the whoosh of something solid and fast flying past her head. Jane's reflexes seemed to be slightly more heightened then hers, as he pulled her to the ground before she realized what was happening.

"What the hell!" she yelled, head jarring against the hard earth. Jane wasn't exactly good at tackling people, and she took the brunt of the fall. She massaged the side of her head, a large knot already rising. "Really Jane? You're awful at saving people!"

She turned to make sure he was all right, but his gaze rested darkly on something lodged in the tree. She followed the path his eyes took, the color rapidly draining from her face when she realized what it was. And what it meant.

It was a Polaroid of them from less than ten minutes ago with Red John's logo; much like the ones she'd received in the mail a few weeks prior with the red smile happily drawn over it. The message was different this time, stuck in the tree with an arrow from a crossbow. It was a message meant for her, and by association, him.

Better hurry.

XOX

She was distant and skittish the rest of the day, holed up in her office with the blinds closed. Her head still throbbed, but for a different reason. She debated, after the day's events, telling Jane everything that had transpired in the past six weeks. She was running out of time to convince him, seduce him, or whatever she was supposed to make happen.

Red John was watching her every move though. Clearly sending out hired guns to track her progress.

They hadn't divulged the photo to the team. Jane had taken it, knowing there'd be no prints anyway. There never was. They'd told the team about the arrow, the close call. The team was concerned enough about the arrow, and neither Lisbon nor Jane wanted to involve the picture and it's rather clear message.

Lisbon sighed heavily. She knew Jane was up in his attic, scouring through his little black book and analyzing the picture's meaning. She caved, desperately needing to see him.

She made her way to the stairs, hesitant to tell him everything she knew, everything she'd done, still trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic of her betrayal.

Maybe dinner would be the best way to go about it. Preferably somewhere public enough that he wouldn't be able to scream at her, or at least have it seen as inappropriate. His was a grudge that could be held for an outstanding, indefinite period of time, and that terrified her. It all boiled down to his inability to ever forgive her. She would fundamentally change their entire relationship with a few words, and drive a wedge between them forever.

It was a sacrifice she would have to make. He had to know. And she had to know how he felt, and if how he felt would save her life or end her.

Swallowing her fear, she knocked gently on the attic door.

"It's open Lisbon," she heard from beyond. She exhaled, pushing open the door.

He was meticulously studying his wall covered in photos, articles, names, and jagged red yarn lines leading to their connections. The wall had initially startled her, when he'd allowed her to enter his sanctum and had seen what exactly he'd been hiding for weeks. It no longer exuded the same shock; it became apart of the attic, as a piece of art would in an office. A strange, disturbing piece of art, to be sure.

The look in his eyes was practically manic. It was the always present half crazed glint he got when they were getting close to something Red John related.

She felt a sharp pang, even thinking the name.

"Hey, Jane, so…"

He interrupted her swiftly, a tinge of excitement lacing his voice. "Lisbon, I think I've made some connections regarding Leslie Evan's murder."

"That's great, Jane, but…"

"It's the feathers, that threw me. I don't think this is Red John, but I do think it's one of his minions. I heard back from the lab, and it's the same blade Red John uses. It's common, to be sure, but expensive. I think he's teaching them. I think they're using their own signatures."

"Jane!"

He stopped his tirade, owl eyed. "What?" he shrugged absently, thrown by the force in her voice.

She gaped, searching his confused expression. The light cast by the setting sun highlighted well cut cheekbones and shot streaks of gold into his already light hair; the inquisitive gleam in his eyes adding sparkle to their vivid ocean blue. He was beautiful in that singular moment. More so than he'd ever been, and she realized how weak she was.

She couldn't tell him. She was a coward, as much as he was, taking back his confession in the musty walls of a cold, gray warehouse while they hashed out their plan to deliver her "head." She didn't want to be the one to ruin them. Everything they had and could have. Lisbon couldn't take his wrath. She'd rather die by Red John's hand than be left to flounder in a world without Patrick Jane by her side.

Instead, she swallowed numbly, gaze unable to meet his. He patiently waited, equally measuring her movements. He realized she was waging a war inside, two tremulous thoughts converging on each other, and her thoughts were at a stalemate. He could see the pro and con churning in her blazing emerald eyes.

A decade long impasse of their own making.

The conspiracy wall was forgotten, as was his hypothesis of feathers and acolytes and knives. Her inner battle was all that he thought relevant in the moment. He knew, more than anyone, of missing moments. He'd missed the moment his life had changed and he'd lost a part of his soul. Missed his chance to correct his arrogance and greed.

He hadn't missed his chance with Lisbon, not yet. No matter what forces were against them, the rivers of blood always seemed to carry them back to each other. They'd had chances, to be sure, to act. But whoever said timing was everything hadn't met them.

They would argue later on who moved first. Not that it mattered.

His confused expression and the bewilderment of indecision on her face were lost to the darkening attic and the secrets its dust coated walls kept.

Regardless of who's actions caused the reaction, she'd been forced against the wall, and all she could feel was hands, everywhere, and hot breath and the taste of Jane as his mouth crashed, demanding, onto hers. As she wove slender fingers into the gold locks, she could only hope the attic didn't betray the confidence of them. She could only hope this was the one place he couldn't see.

Jane gripped her waist so tightly she thought she'd break, and she realized he'd stopped movement except for that pressure. He was hugging her, and she couldn't understand why. His lips remained on her hers, but had stilled in their exploration. She gently pulled back, breaking the kiss.

"Jane?" she whispered breathlessly. His face was once again hidden in shadow.

"When?" he questioned quietly. Her brow knit in confusion. He swallowed thickly. "When did you make a deal with him?"

She realized his fingers had drifted to her erratic pulse. And the jump in it gave her away, as much as physically jumping back against the wall did. If possible, she paled to such an extent that she was sure she was glow in the dark.

She flailed for speech again, before settling on sincerity. "How did you figure it out?"

He chuckled in the darkness, and it was eerie and distant. "Give me some credit, you're not hard to figure out dear. The fear that screamed on your face the moment you got back from 'getting lost' and the way you say his name now, like he's got a hold on you. You swallow before you say it, like it's physically hurting you. The sudden emotional shift, you're fidgety and spaced out all the time and your pen caps look like they've been through a shredder. The clothes, the dates, the nearness and the touching. What did he offer you, Lisbon?"

She closed her eyes against his blinding rage. "He offered me us, Jane. He gave me ten weeks to convince you that you loved me, and if I didn't keep up my end of the bargain, I'd be next on his list," she said bitterly.

"How could you do that Lisbon! How dare you do that!" He practically screamed, the low rumble of the threat in his tone echoing like thunder.

"I did it to save us! I did it because I thought maybe it would be the easiest way to trap him! I thought maybe you loved me, even a little, enough at least to save us, Jane! Jesus, I did it to save you!"

He whirled on her. "I don't want you to save me, Teresa! Haven't you figured that out? I don't want to be saved! I want them back!"

She froze at his turn of phrase. There was the rub. She was Teresa Lisbon, she was not Angela Jane and she would never live up to a dead woman. For all intents and purposes, she was a stand in. A glorified consolation prize.

He might as well have told her she didn't matter, again.

For once she couldn't hold back the angry tears, and they spilled forth as the dam broke. She backed out of the room with as much earth shaking poise as she could, and was down the stairs and out of the building before he had time to regret what he'd said.

And regret he did.

He'd dropped the reaper's scythe on her for the last time, and he didn't even know it.

XOX

Lisbon felt like a child, blinded by tears as she hastily drove home. It was moments like this that she longed for her mother, longed for that comfort. Her heart had never hurt so badly, and her worst fears had come to be.

She knew he was a hard man, but he'd sunken the lowest blow possible. He wanted them, he didn't want her. He'd had his family, and she would never replace it. She'd waited idly on bated breath for ten years, glimpsing bits of light in the cracks of his heart. She'd waited for him to see her standing there, and as years had passed them by, the realization that there were things she would probably never be able to provide him with had dawned clear as age wore her down.

At some point, she'd come to embrace that she would never have a family. She'd grown okay with the thought, as long as she had him.

Now she couldn't even claim to have that.

She pulled her car into the lot of her condo but couldn't bring herself to get out of the CBI issued vehicle. She rested her head against the steering wheel, sobbing like she hadn't since the death of her mother.

The opening of her passenger door startled her.

"You failed, Agent Lisbon."