A/N: Who can't believe I actually finished this on time? There's just an epilogue left to post and that'll go up tomorrow morning, probably. Unless I get really impatient or something.

Thanks to: Frogster, Divinia Serit, dwennie, Dance Alice Dance, Viktorija, autumnftw, Angelic dEvil xo, boutondor, lisbon69, yaba, anthropologist and forthecoast for reviewing part fourteen. Especially so to lisbon69 who logged in anonymously.

And Cat, of course this is a happy ending. They can see each other in heaven, right?

x tromana

Part Fifteen

She found him in Lisbon's office, or at least, the room that was Lisbon's office.

It was still intact. Nobody had had the heart to take it apart just yet and besides, it wasn't needed. They were still interviewing for her replacement.

Van Pelt and Rigsby had both urged Cho to put himself up for consideration, but he refused. It felt wrong trying to step into Lisbon's shoes and besides, he was happy with his lot and had never seen the appeal of becoming a senior agent anyway.

Jane hadn't cared either way.

In fact, he barely said a word to any of them all week.

He was on the red couch, tossing and turning, trying desperately to get comfortable. Van Pelt felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips but quickly regained control of her emotions. Besides, there was a reason she was in here and it was not because she wanted to watch Jane attempt to sleep.

"Jane?"

"What?"

"Case."

"Oh."

He didn't bother looking at her. In fact, he turned so that all she could see was his back, making it blindingly obvious he wanted to ignore her. For her to leave him alone so he could think in peace.

"Damn it, Jane, snap out of it," Van Pelt hissed, annoyed with his moping. "We've got work to do."

"What's the point?"

"The point? The point?" she retorted, understanding exactly why Lisbon had found him so insufferable on occasion. "To catch killers and put them away where they can't hurt anybody else. I'd say that's a good enough reason, wouldn't you?"

"Doesn't change the fact that the person is dead though, does it?"

Van Pelt gaped at him. It was clear what this was about.

The rest of them were trying their best to move on, to keep things going, to do their jobs properly. Jane, however, was doing the exact opposite and making it harder on the rest of them.

She wasn't surprised that it was affecting him more; if he'd just brushed it off as if nothing had happened, she'd have been more worried. But still. There was a time and a place to be sad and when there was work to be done, it was absolutely not the time.

"You know what? Fine. Stay here, in a foul mood. See if I care."

Jane didn't even flinch as she slammed the door behind her.

000

He was going to propose again.

When the Red John thing was finished, over and done with, he was going to ask Teresa to be his wife for a second time.

It didn't matter that their relationship was never what he expected. Didn't matter that she flinched almost every time he touched her or withdrew into herself whenever she was scared. They would have managed to rekindle their love; it was just a matter of time.

Time that was cut cruelly short.

Fingering the engagement ring gently, he placed it back in its velvet box. Her brothers would probably be coming to pick her stuff up soon. And inevitably, the ring would disappear into storage along with the rest of her stuff.

Or sold on, without a second thought, as if Teresa had never worn it in the first place.

Bitterly, he wiped the tears away from his eyes with his free hand. He couldn't cry, not here. It didn't matter that he was alone, that the others were busy doing their jobs. That he knew he wouldn't be disturbed for at least another two hours.

If he let the tears flow here, in Teresa's office, they just wouldn't stop.

Then, somebody would say he should have some time off, take a break from it all. That he clearly hadn't recovered from the shock of her death.

After this morning's show, Van Pelt would even say that he wasn't using the job as a distraction, so it shouldn't matter that he wasn't at the CBI headquarters.

But that wasn't the point.

He didn't want to leave the CBI, not yet.

Here, he felt closer to her. She had always felt more comfortable at work than at home. Even after they moved, after the attack on Bosco and his unit, she was still happier at work. It gave her drive, it was something that she knew she was good at.

And she genuinely loved her job.

He slid open the draw to her desk and replaced the velvet box back where he had removed it from. It didn't belong to him; ownership had probably transferred to her brothers now, technically speaking.

Jane promised that he would never ask for her jewelry back and that was one promise he refused to break.

He'd just been busy reminiscing.

Something else caught his eye and he allowed his fingers to run over it.

Her Glock 9mm.

Jane had never been fond of guns, but for some reason, he picked it up.

And pocketed it.

At a loss of things to do, he closed the door, with the intention to head outside. Somehow, the atmosphere had become stifling.

He paused in the lobby.

There was a mahogany board that hung proud there. Normally, he didn't pay much attention to it, nobody really did. It was just a feature that had always been there, honoring those who had fallen in the service of the CBI.

Underneath Samuel Bosco Junior's name, freshly added in gold leaf that morning.

Teresa Lisbon.

000

"I'm not going to shoot you, Jane."

Van Pelt's voice quavered as she looked down the barrel of the gun.

It wasn't the first time she had been in this position and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. Her job was dangerous and Lisbon's death had been proof of that.

She just never expected that Patrick Jane would be the one pointing a gun at her.

They'd received a harried telephone call from Hightower, stating that a man was going nuts in a local cemetery. That he was armed, was threatening to shoot himself and others if they came too close.

She'd neglected to tell them it was Jane though.

Apparently, they were the closest unit on a call, so they had to deal with it.

"What's the point, Van Pelt?"

"Don't talk like that, Jane."

"Why not?"

"Lisbon wouldn't…"

"Lisbon wouldn't what? How do you know? You barely knew her."

"I knew her well enough."

Van Pelt couldn't let his words hurt her. Nor could she let him hurt himself or others. She couldn't even take his disbelieving snort to heart, because deep down, she knew he didn't really mean it. He was just reacting badly to the whole situation.

They'd known he was pretty messed up because of everything, but none of them had expected things to be quite this bad. But Jane was always a pretty good actor. He'd pulled the wool over their eyes time and time again, so she cursed herself for not realizing it. There was a massive difference between being in mourning and letting the grief overwhelm you until that was all that was left.

She should have known that losing two wives to one serial killer would be too much for him.

"Come on, Jane. Put the gun down."

"No."

"If you do that, we can go and get some tea, or something. Have a chat."

Behind him, Rigsby stood on a twig and Jane's eyes flared in anger.

They were ganging up on him, trying to stop him from doing this. Not that he'd decided what this was quite yet. It was a work in progress.

But still, couldn't they see how much he was hurting? How wrong this all was?

Squeezing his eyes firmly shut, he pulled the trigger.

000

"He's taking a psych evaluation now," Rigsby whispered, allowing his fingers to brush against Van Pelt's shoulder.

"He's going to fail, isn't he?"

"It's probably for the best that he does."

Van Pelt nodded.

Professional help would do him.

She was just grateful that he was such a crap shot.