A/N: This is it, folks, the epilogue to my first AU and first multi-chapter fanfic. I have learned a lot from this experience and I appreciate everyone who has stuck around in spite of my slow updates! Much love to you all.

P.S. I have invented my own ending for Red John here, as I felt that the one from the show wouldn't fit with this story.

The usual disclaimer applies.

Teresa Lisbon sits in her office, finishing up the last of her paperwork. She hasn't seen Patrick for a couple of hours, and hopes that he isn't off causing trouble somewhere. A bit of a feeble hope that, she thinks with a sigh.

Rigsby and Van Pelt left around two hours ago, within minutes of each other, and only Cho remains seated in the bullpen.

All of a sudden, Teresa is overcome by an intense need to check whether Patrick is okay. She tries to shake it off, tells herself that he's fine, but after five minutes she is antsy and starting to panic. She takes a deep breath and gets up, grabbing her gun as an afterthought. You never know with him...

When she walks past Cho's desk, something tells her to bring backup.

"Cho, when last did you see Jane?"

"Around one. He said he was going to meet somebody."

Teresa hesitates, wondering if she should bother her co-worker with her suspicions. After all, Jane could have just gone out for lunch and decided to stay late. Like he ever goes out for lunch.

Anyway, it is almost seven o' clock. He should be back by now.

"Listen, could you do me a favour?"

"You want me to help you find Jane?" Cho guesses.

Got it in one.

"Yeah. Thanks, Cho."

They find him in an abandoned house in a half-dead neighbourhood, his arms and legs tightly bound to a chair.

He starts struggling frantically when he sees Teresa and Cho approach. She goes over to him and pulls the duct tape away from his mouth.

"Careful," he gasps desperately, his voice hoarse. "We're not alo-"

"Hello, Teresa," a voice calls out and she instantly knows that this is Red John.

She turns slowly, her gun raised, but she is too late. Two shots ring out within split seconds of each other and one man falls to the ground.

After a moment of stunned silence, Teresa looks around, terrified, as she tries to figure out what happened.

Cho stands with a smoking gun and Red John has crumpled to the floor, his own gun lying next to him.

Patrick watches as the man he has hated and hunted for so long gives one last groan and then goes absolutely still.

"Good thing he was a lousy shot," Cho says, lowering his gun and seeming to be as controlled as always. But the tremble in his voice on the last syllable gives him away.

Teresa recovers herself and quickly loosens Patrick's bonds. She can't think of anything to say to him in this moment; just looks on as he rubs his wrists and walks unsteadily over to the body on the floor.

He crouches down and reaches out with two fingers to check for a pulse.

"It's done," he says, so quietly that they almost don't hear him.

By the time that all of the red tape relating to the death of Red John has been dealt with, Patrick is long gone.

Teresa tries to look for him but he's covered his tracks as only Patrick Jane knows how and she doesn't see or hear from him for four months.

Even though she has his promise to rely on, the promise that he will always come back, she spends every day of those four months worrying herself sick. Not so much for herself, but for him.

She can't bear the thought of him going completely off the rails again. She's afraid he won't survive that. She's afraid he won't survive this. As glad as she is that there is no risk of him going to jail, she knows that it must eat away at him that he was not the one to pull the trigger.

Her fingers have almost made a home out of the space on her chest where her emerald and the cross lies; so often does she rest her hand there when she thinks of him.

He comes home in the middle of a rainstorm.

Teresa has just added a piece of wood to the fireplace in her living room when she hears a knock at the door. It is so soft she thinks she imagined it, but goes to check anyway.

She opens the door and sees Patrick standing there, his suit rumpled and soaked, but he's apparently none the worse for the wear otherwise.

"Patrick," she half-sobs in relief and throws her arms around him.

"Hi," he answers in her ear, his voice cracking a little.

They cling to each other for a long time and then she realises that he's shivering under her fingertips and it's raining and cold so she pulls him inside and points him in the direction of her couch.

"Make yourself at home," she says softly. "I'll go get some tea."

He barely spares the couch a glance; instead looks at her almost shyly and says "I'd rather stay with you, if that's okay."

And after the hell they've been through the past couple of months, she completely understands – and shares – his desire to not be out of sight. She nods and his hand finds hers, and it seems silly but walking hand-in-hand to the kitchen almost reduces her to tears.

He notices the tear that tracks a path down her cheek and he stops and pulls her to him.

"You alright?"

"You're back," she answers and holds him tighter.

"Yes, but I wasn't really hoping that you would be crying because of that," he replies, aiming for humour.

That makes her smile. "Idiot," she says affectionately.

"I missed you," he says, his voice again gravelly with emotion.

Her fingernails dig into his back and he almost doesn't hear the heartfelt "I missed you too," that she whispers near his collarbone. Almost.

They stand and breathe each other in for a few more minutes, and then Patrick says "Tea?" so hopefully that she can't refuse him, and they resume their path to the kitchen.

It is when he has wrapped his hands around the warm teacup that she realises one thing is very clearly absent.

She isn't sure how to approach the topic, so when he finishes his tea, she deliberately brushes his ring finger with her hand when she takes the cup from him, and locks her eyes on his.

He understands.

"It was time," he explains quietly. "What I set out to do is done. Red John is dead and I... I know Angela would have wanted me to move on with my life. I'm ready to do that now."

Teresa puts their cups down in the sink, walks over to him, and when she is two steps away he opens his arms and she falls into his embrace for about the hundredth time that night, whispering "I am so, so proud of you..."

Patrick kisses her forehead in response and then gets up suddenly, guiding her with him, and walks her to the living room.

She's a little surprised when he pulls her away from her kitchen so abruptly, but she feels it is sometimes easier to trust and just go with him, rather than figure out where he's going or why. It's not like he would tell her, anyway. Just like old times.

They sit down on the couch near the fireplace and she gives him a questioning glance.

He smiles and moves closer, his hands reaching forward to wrap around hers.

"Do you remember that one night at the carnival? I think it was maybe two days before I was going to leave; you and I sat by that bonfire and talked about things... This brings back memories," he nods towards the fireplace. "Sometimes I wonder how life would have turned out if I'd done what I wanted to do that night... what I wanted to do again the last night that I saw you," Patrick says.

"Yeah? What was that?"

Her question is spoken quietly, with a half-smile on her face, like she knows the answer but she asks him anyway because she knows he wants to tell her.

"I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you. I'm going to kiss you now, if that's okay," he says all in a rush.

"Seriously? This is the one time you choose to ask for permission before you do something?" Teresa laughs and puts her arms around his neck, her fingers tugging slowly through his hair. "It's absolutely okay," she finishes, her eyes shining.

And then they've slipped closed because Patrick's lips are on hers and she can taste tea and want and something that is distinctly him, and when his hands tighten around her waist to pull her against his chest, like he's never going to let her go, it's everything she has ever dreamed of.

Teresa must know where his kill switch is. It's the only way to explain how she has managed to short-circuit his brain yet again, so that he doesn't think, he just feels.

And does he feel.

He's been waiting to do this for so long and now that he is – it makes his head swim. Kissing Teresa is better than anything he could have imagined. It has allowed him to release the last of his doubts about moving on and it's like he's finally found what he was searching for. It's like coming home.

She moans a little under his touch and he pulls away to rest his forehead against hers.

"Don't stop," she says, leaning further into him and trying to claim his lips again.

He halts her movements with a finger to her mouth and whispers, "I just have one more thing to say."

He presses a comforting kiss near her jaw and she waits.

"I love you, Teresa," he says happily, a smile stretching over his face.

She lifts her head to look into his eyes. "I love you too," she answers.

He gazes at her, overwhelmed by what this moment means for them, and then upon seeing her smile, pulls her close and kisses her again.

This time there are no more interruptions and eventually, a long time later, the sound of the rain hitting the roof outside lulls the two kids from the carnival to sleep.