Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist or anything to do with it.

A.N. Sorry this has taken so long again. I've been mentoring at Space School this week which may sound fun but is utterly exhausting. Thanks for all your comments and here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

When Lisbon awoke she didn't move, other than opening her eyes. For a moment she wondered if she had indeed opened them as her world remained dark but as her eyes adjusted she realised it was night time and the lights were off. Slowly she began to move, assessing the damage. She ached all over from lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed but other than that she was numb and her left arm was immobilised. She had been in the same position enough times before to know better than the tug at the annoying tubes up her nose.

She tried to remember the events that led up to her stay in this room. Jane informing her that O'Laughlin was the mole, O'Laughlin besting her in a shoot-off, Hightower and Van Pelt shooting and killing O'Laughlin.

Grace must feel like she's in hell, Lisbon thought.

Jane had called her and she had spoken to Red John. She shivered under the blankets on her bed at the thought. Then Jane had said he'd call her back.

He'd call her back.

The heart monitor that she was wired up to jumped up a notch, beeping rapidly as her right hand shot out to the bedside table at her side, her neck straining to see what was there. The first thing her fingers wrapped around was her necklace and she gripped it tightly before laying in on her chest. Finally her hand grasped around the flat, rectangular shape of her phone.

Her hand was shaking as she struggled to turn it on. Letting the software load she waited, her eyes fixed on the screen, watching the clock- one minute changing to the next, and the next, and the next. After five minutes had passed she closed her eyes tightly and dropped her phone, fingers once again clinging to her cross.

No missed calls.

She couldn't trust her memory- it was too hazy. But she was sure she remembered Van Pelt answering a phone and telling her...

Telling her what?

That Jane killed a man. That he killed Red John.

God damn him! He had planned this! What was worse was that she knew he had planned it! And she had done nothing! She should have gone to the mall with Van Pelt and sent Cho and Rigsby to guard Hightower. She should have kept an eye on Jane at all times and she shouldn't have let O'Laughlin anywhere near Hightower until the entire situation was resolved, even if she did believe he was in the clear at the time. She had let her fondness for Grace cloud her judgement in that regard. And as for Jane... she should never have let herself be conned into the idea of letting him have free rein over one of his plans, even if it was the only feasible way of catching Red John.

She hadn't believed it would work. Apparently it had, as all Jane's plans did. And it had ended in death for one side of the bloody war Red John had started and it would end in prison for the other.

At that moment in time, Teresa felt entirely alone. There was no one she could call to give her reassurance or advice. There was no one to give her a hug and tell her it would be all right. Normally she shied away from such behaviour but right now she craved it.

Instead, she uncomfortably pushed herself onto her right side and brought her legs up to her chest. Still clutching her cross, she was thankful for the darkness for she was able to hide her tears even from herself.

It was at the moment his boss drifted into sleep once again that Wayne Rigsby pulled away from Grace Van Pelt's apartment building. He felt he had handled to situation admirably. After Grace's meltdown inside the CBI offices he had placed her on Jane's couch and wrapped her in his jacket. He ached to hold her, to offer some sort of comfort, but he knew that could end up making the situation worse. Instead, he settled for simply holding her hand as she cried.

Once she was composed enough to walk, he immediately took her home. He found himself walking round the once familiar flat, grabbing blankets, cushions and making camomile tea. Once she was settled on the couch where he could keep an eye on her, he began digging through her wedding material. He had figured that if Lisbon had been getting her dress picked up then so must the other bridesmaids and Charlotte Breener, Grace's maid of honour. And that was whose number he was searching for.

He doubted Grace would want him about, especially after his confession only a week ago. Her family was too far away to provide any immediate help so instead he figured that Grace's best girl friend would be the best person for the job. Rigsby was in luck; Charlotte – who preferred, Charlie, was still in town and arrived at Grace's apartment less than an hour later. She had, of course, heard about his previous relationship with Grace (apparently these women told each other everything) and whole heartedly agreed that he was not someone Grace should see right now.

Van Pelt was in shock, that much was obvious. She had shot her fiancée and quite possibly been the one who had fired the kill shot. And he, Wayne Rigsby, had not, under any circumstance, wanted to watch her marry another man. But he hadn't wanted it to end like this. He just hope Grace understood that.

And so, with Grace in Charlie's capable hands, he began to drive back towards the CBI. It had been a long two days and they were about to get even longer.

The second time Teresa woke up after surgery there was someone in the room with her. Two someone's, in fact. A nurse was changing the drip in her arm and a doctor was looking over her chart. He smiled at her when he noticed that she was awake.

"Good morning, Teresa. How are you feeling?"

She considered the question briefly. Honestly, she felt like crap. What she needed was some decent food and a very long, very hot shower. But first, she needed an update on her team and the Jane situation.

"Not bad," she answered, "considering there's a new hole in my shoulder." Whoever said that honesty was the best policy obviously never had even half as many stays in hospital as she had.

The doctor smiled at her humour. "That's good to hear. The surgery was fairly straightforward. I'm Doctor Schafer, by the way. Do you have any questions?"

Lisbon decided pretty quickly that she liked him. He was straight to the point. "When can I leave?" she asked, as the nurse helped her sit up in the bed, before leaving to tend to other patients.

He nodded, obviously expecting that question. "We want to keep you in today and tonight. You can leave tomorrow morning, once we've checked that you can change your bandages and look after your wound yourself. And, before you ask," he grinned wearily, "you can go back to desk work in two weeks; light field work in six and anything that involves high impact is eight weeks, unless your arm is giving you any pain."

"Thank you."

"A nurse will bring you your breakfast shortly," Schafer continued, "and we'll start you on the pill form of your pain medication then too. Now," he took a quick glance out the door to somewhere she couldn't see, "do you feel up for a visitor?"

Her heart rose into her throat. Maybe it was Cho, here to give her an update on the Jane situation. Or La Roche, to question her on her knowledge of his plans. Or... there was no sense getting worked up over it. Schafer was already frowning at the way her heart rate had raised in the moments since his question. "Sure," she managed, hoarsely. Unsure if he could even hear her, she nodded.

Schafer was still frowning, "Okay, but if you get tired, don't be afraid to tell him to get lost. You need some more rest." And, with that he left.

Lisbon rapidly scrubbed her face, desperate to make sure there were no telltale tear tracks left on her cheeks before her visitor was admitted. But when he did enter the room and carefully shut the door behind him, she felt a lump grow in her throat.

"Hey, Sir," she broke out into a smile, despite the lump. "How've you been?"

The withering glare she got in response from Virgil Minelli was enough, but he backed it up by opening his mouth and retorting, "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that? And I'm not your boss anymore, Teresa."

As she watched him drag a plastic chair to beside her bed she found herself wondering just how many times he had visited friends, relatives and colleagues in hospital. God knows, she had enough experience, but she had never quite managed to master the art of finding a comfortable position in those damn visitor's chairs. Minelli made it look simple, settling the chair about a meter away from the edge of the bed, slouching back in it as though it were as padded as the couch Jane had bought her and finally he put his feet on the bed, pushing her legs out of the way. As she watched, totally bemused, she forgot to sensor her sentences, saying, "Well, I'm not really sure who my boss is anymore. Last I heard, Hightower was on the CBI's most wanted list and La Roche and Bertram were candidates for the title of Red John's mole." She rolled slightly to one side so she could speak to him more easily.

Minelli laughed at her blunt assessment of the situation, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Really, Teresa. How are you?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Instead, she looked him dead in the eyes, trying to assess what he knew. It was only after he prompted her to speak by calling her name again that she let her eyes drop to the floor. "I'd be a lot better if I knew what was going on," she spoke quietly.

"Would you?"

She hadn't expected that. Which meant things must be worse than she had previously thought. Although, she had come up with some truly horrific scenarios in her head the night before. Her head snapped up and she met his eyes determinedly. "I need to know, Virgil." Her voice was quiet but it conveyed the strength of her convictions. "I'm driving myself insane here. I've come up with dozens of ideas what could have happened. Please," her voice had dropped to a frantic whisper and she raised it again for her final plea, "please tell me something. Anything!"

"Yesterday afternoon, just after the shootout at Hightower's hideout, it seems, Jane shot and killed a man, Vincent Pride, after being convinced that he was Red John." Minelli recited off the line like it was just another report on any old case. "Cho and Rigsby have been working through the night and so far the evidence they have collected is pointing towards the conclusion that Jane was correct and that Red John is now dead."

Lisbon watched him as he spoke. His eyes darted across the room and refused to meet her own. There was more- more that he wasn't telling her. She didn't prompt him, instead she just waited it out with a glare.

Finally, he withered under her gaze, "If I had known what shit he was going to get himself into, I swear, Teresa, I never would have helped him. Yes, I wanted that son-of-a-bitch caught and I certainly won't lose any sleep over the fact that he's dead but why did Jane have to shoot him? And I'm a God-damned moron for not guessing what he'd do if he ever met Red John..."

But Teresa was no longer listening. For her, time had frozen when Minelli had confessed to helping Jane. She had no idea when or where or how and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She couldn't blame Minelli either- after all, hadn't she been the one to phone Red John at Jane's request? And she was still positive that the man who she had spoken to was indeed Red John. Which, naturally, must have led to Jane discovering the serial killer- and then killing him. So wasn't she, too, responsible for helping Jane achieve his overall goal. But she, unlike Minelli, had known of Jane's ambitions. He had told her and given her fair warning.

In a way, they had all gotten caught in Jane's spider web, not just Red John.

A.N. This chapter didn't turn out as I expected it to. Anyway, next chapter should be up soon (you don't believe me, do you?) and hopefully have be the last prelude-ish chapter before the real story starts! Let me know what you think!

~Sweetdeath04