Okay, so the second half of the finale aired last night in Aus, and I was so psyched up by it that I had a writing spree and got this done three days earlier than expected. I'm quite happy with that. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to In The Name who again provided a wonderful quote. On a side note, I drank tea while writing this :)

If I owned the Mentalist, I wouldn't need to wait two damn months later than America to watch the finale :)

Chapter Six

"Truth is by nature self-evident. As soon as you remove the cobwebs of ignorance that surround it, it shines clear." - Mohandas Gandhi

His eyes plastered to the Red John file, Jane sat on the couch in his loft and waited for the fire to start. For the shadows and stains of the past to leap before him, fading all reason and logic until the anger was all he could feel. Raging to a point where no amount of forgiveness, no sentence or question or admittance could ever be quite enough. The flames, once started, could not be put out by water. Blood, perhaps.

But the feeling never came. He hadn't felt it in weeks; it was still a fire, of course, but not quite so hot, not burning his insides quite so painfully. Jane wasn't sure whether he missed it or not, whether it was because he'd healed slightly or because he'd given up the chase. Deep down he supposed that he shouldn't miss the pain, should be grateful for the sudden ability to sleep for hours on end. But all it did was confuse him, more and more with each time it crossed his mind.

It occurred to him that maybe he'd exhausted the file's contents, gathered all he could from what it told him. Jane stood slowly, walked over to where the folder sat on the table and flipped it open to the first piece of paper, the murder of Hannah Fenton, 28 years old. Immediately, a thousand stories began to write themselves, some he'd been through many times but others he was yet to read. Jane could recite the page's words in his sleep, and yet his mind was still coming up with new answers, new possibilities. He hadn't exhausted anything, that was for sure.

With the dead end came a sudden claustrophobia; there was no thoughts but his own in the room and they surrounded him, thinned the air. He needed a distraction, needed human contact so he could breathe again. Crossing the room quickly, Jane descended the stairs and as he touched the bottom step two agents strode past, deep in conversation. It calmed him at once, melted away his thoughts, made him feel human again. He spent so much time upstairs that he often forgot.

He found Lisbon in the kitchen, making her fifth cup of coffee that day. It was an exhausting case, the one they were currently working, and it frustrated Jane as well but ultimately it was Lisbon's head in the guillotine if the killer escaped. When the victim was Aaron Fletcher, grandson of the mayor, they couldn't afford any mistakes. The pressure on her was obvious; there were deepset bags under her eyes, and her hands shook slightly as she set the kettle on its holder.

'Slow down,' he told her.

'I don't need to slow down,' she muttered without looking at him.

'Yes, you do.' Lisbon ignored him and began to search the overhead cupboard. Jane waited for her to find her mug and then, as soon as she set it down on the bench, he reached out and stole it. She didn't react verbally, as he thought she might; instead, she simply fixed him with a death glare. He would have liked to play keepers off, but it felt inappropriate and she looked about to kick him somewhere unpleasant.

'I'll make you some tea,' he said. Tea would keep her calm, help her think; coffee would just accelerate everything into one big mass of incompetence.

'I don't like tea,' she claimed angrily.

'You've never tried it. Sit down.' And when he saw that she was about to object, he added, 'please.'

Lisbon pouted but did as he asked, sitting down at the small round table with a hint of the glare still present in her eyes. Jane made the tea as quickly as he could, and when he turned around she was staring into the middle of the table, her mind elsewhere. He knew the look, would have seen it many times on himself if possible. She was churning back over the facts, the known, searching for that one detail that would launch them on the path of a promising lead.

He set the mug gently down in front of her and sat in the chair opposite. Lisbon glanced at him almost suspiciously before reaching for the mug; as she brought it to her lips, Jane watched her face carefully. Keen for that millisecond of bliss before she remembered who she was with and painted on a false dislike. But that millisecond either didn't happen or he wasn't quick enough to catch it, because all he saw was her grimace as she lowered the mug back down to the table.

'It tastes like dirt,' she announced.

'Now, come on,' he reasoned, 'it can't be that bad.'

'No, I mean it actually tastes like dirt. What the hell did you put in it?'

'Don't blame the tea,' he defended, her harsh words immediately putting him on the back foot. 'It's not my fault.'

'It never is.' Lisbon said it just loud enough for him to hear. Though there was most likely a fair bit of truth in her words, Jane knew exactly where the anger stemmed from and decided to address that first.

'It's just a case,' he told her gently.

'But that's the problem. It isn't just a case, it's bigger than that.' She met his gaze with an observation. 'And you don't have a clue either, do you.' He raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, and she went on. 'There isn't that excited gleam in your eyes, like the fun's about to start. Also, you haven't disappeared yet.'

'Disappeared?'

'Off to prove a hunch, or to set one of your idiotic plans into action.'

'Idiotic? Ouch.' Jane aimed for a smile and he was granted it, however small. After a second or two he returned to his main point. 'We have the truth already,' he told her. 'It's there in the case file, it's just not clear enough to read yet. All we need is clarity. Where's Cho?'

'With Rigsby, talking to the parents.'

'Van Pelt?'

'Digging into Newman's financials.'

'There we go.' He leant back in his chair. 'Clarity. All we have to do is wait for it.' That wasn't exactly how it worked and they were both aware, but her smile was larger in the silence and he knew she appreciated him trying.

'Take it,' she said softly, sliding the mug toward him. 'Have your cup of dirt. I'm making coffee.'

As she stood, Jane blinked and suddenly a blinding truth overcame him. It had been there all along, he sensed, lingering just out of sight, and why it occurred to him now was an utter mystery. Ignorance, probably. Fading to clarity, able to be read. Because the truth was that the Red John file had not lost its dark appeal. He hadn't healed, hadn't moved on, certainly hadn't given up the chase. It was Lisbon; she was pulling him away, lightening the dark, a weight of guilt on his back that made it harder and harder to run.

So he slowed down. And eventually, he stopped.

There we go. I have a quote for Chap 7, but after that I'd be extremely grateful for some more quotes. There'll be 10 chapters, so three more, pretty please?

I'd also love a review, even if you hated it.

TAJ :)