Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or anything related to it.

A.N. I think I'm going to stop trying to estimate when I'm going to update. It doesn't seem to be working. Anyway, I apologise for the long wait (hey, there's a fic I haven't updated in... oh dear, six years. That's a long time...) and I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Four

The following week was gruelling, to say the least, and Lisbon was quick to learn exactly why Doctor Schafer had been insistent that she took two weeks off work. Not that she paid any heed to his advice.

As soon as it was confirmed to no degree of doubt that Pride was, in fact, Red John, the Serious Crimes Unit was taken off the case. One would have thought that would have made things easier for the team, but instead it was only a prelude to a flood of interviews and questions by the prosecution attorneys. Jane's pre-trial date had been set for exactly two weeks after the killing, on Friday 3rd June, and it was there that both the prosecution and defence would duke it out for what information was admissible and inadmissible in the court room.

The shooting had occurred on Friday 20th May and Lisbon had been released from Kaiser Foundation and returned to the CBI on Sunday the 22nd. The next day, Hightower had been officially cleared from all involvement with the Todd Johnson murder and been temporarily reinstated as the Head of the CBI though she wouldn't be at work until she had made arrangements for her children to be looked after. La Roche had been quick to hand back the title to the aggrieved woman- so quick, in fact, that it made Lisbon wonder if he had ever wanted the job in the first place. He had then taken on the overseeing of the Red John versus Patrick Jane case.

It was nine o'clock on Tuesday morning when a prosecutor, by the name of Anthony O'Donnell, stalked into the bullpen, demanding to speak to the members of the SCU. Lisbon, who had insisted to a dubious Cho that she was fit for work and had subsequently been driven to the CBI, had dragged the poor man into her office and stated quite firmly that, in no uncertain terms, was he to inconvenience the members of her team and that his interviews were to be done at their leisure, not his. When he objected, she slammed her right hand down on the desk so hard that it jarred her injured shoulder painfully, then promised that they would co-operate to the best of their ability but that he was not to go knocking on Van Pelt's door.

Too much damage had been done to her team. They had all been hurt and betrayed. And Teresa Lisbon would be damned if she would allow any more harm to come to that girl without it going through her first.

Eventually, herself and O'Donnell reached an impasse. He could come and go as he pleased, so long as he didn't corner them at a crime scene, and he wouldn't talk to Van Pelt until Lisbon had cleared it with her but the interview had to be done before the pre-trial. To compensate the time lost, Lisbon agreed to hand over any files pertaining to Jane (including the numerous formal complaints made against him) and give him any information he required.

They shook hands and he wished her a speedy recovery. For all his talk of, 'time is of the essence,' she didn't see him again until Friday 27th.

That week Lisbon formed a routine. She would wake up at six o'clock every morning, shower, change the dressing on her wound, dress and finally force herself to eat a substantial breakfast whilst trying not to gag on the painkillers the doctor has prescribed. Cho would pick her up on his way to work at half past seven and they would arrive in just before eight. With no cases pending, they would all start on paperwork from previous cases. At lunch she would resist taking more of her painkillers until the looks of concern she was getting from Cho and Rigsby (mainly Rigsby, Cho was as impassive as ever) wore her down, then she would return to her office where she would pretend to do paperwork until exhaustion and pain had her slumped over her desk, at which point she would try and relax on the oversized couch in her office. Each day would end with La Roche and Hightower insisting that it wasn't necessary for her to come in the next day before Cho drove her home.

As much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't really fit for work. Which was why Friday was particularly taxing.

O'Donnell knocked on her office door about an hour after she had returned from lunch. The painkillers weren't doing their job, apart from making her woozy and pain was spreading right down her arm and up her neck like fire. She was honestly looking forward to a weekend in bed with nothing and no one to drag her out of it. But those plans would have to wait.

"Agent Lisbon," O'Donnell's voice broke her silence as the door opened. "Would now be a good time for you to answer a few questions?" It was posed as a question, but in reality it was a statement. O'Donnell was already pulling out a chair from the opposite side of her desk and lowering himself into it before she answered.

"I suppose now's as good a time as any," she answered, resigned to her fate thought inside her head she was uncharacteristically begging for a reprieve. She dropped her pen and ran her ink stained fingers through her hair in an attempt to waken up.

O'Donnell began by asking for her version of the events leading up to the shooting of Vincent Pride and she told them as impassively as she could. The bitterness she felt when she spoke on how Jane had hung up on her with a promise to call her that he had never fulfilled couldn't be heard in her words and she couldn't help but feel that Cho would be proud of her stoic composure.

Next, O'Donnell asked her if she was aware of Jane's time in a psychiatric hospital, to which she replied in the affirmative. This continued on to Jane's behaviour when a Red John case emerged.

"He changed," she began firmly. "He was willing to risk everything to catch Red John. He seemed..." she struggled to find the right words, "almost manic." She decided against telling some of his exploits in further detail (a dying man, a man she loved, whether she cared to admit it or not, and a morphine drip came to mind). But over the years it had become ingrained in her to defend him, at least a little. "You're a prosecution attorney," she looked O'Donnell right in the eye. "You've met people who have lost everything. Have any of them made you promise to get justice for their loved ones?"

She knew the answer before he gave it. "Yes, I have," he replied soberly. They all had. It was inevitable when you did what they did.

"You know that look in their eyes, when they beg you to promise?" Lisbon asked. She was answered by a short nod. "That was the look in Jane's eyes when a Red John case came up."

Her description seemed to rattle O'Donnell and somehow that didn't surprise her. It was a look that every cop, every attorney and every doctor associated with trauma and death. And it was something Jane had been living with for over eight years.

The sat in silence for a moment before O'Donnell cleared his throat, "Just one more question, Agent Lisbon." Lisbon tried not to let out an audible sigh of relief. "Did Mr Jane ever infer or imply that he planned to kill Red John, once he was caught?"

Lisbon blinked and her breath caught in her throat. Her mouth opened to answer but her brain refused to inform her on what she was going to say. Her lips began to form the shape of a word.

Before she produced any sound she looked up, startled, as the door of her office nearly came off its hinges as it was flung open with more force than the designer had intended. Her reprieve had come in the surprising form of La Roche who was looking incredibly harried and somewhat menacing.

"I'm sorry, Mr O'Donnell, you'll have to continue this interview some other time. I'm in need of Agent Lisbon's assistance." His manner alone implied it was urgent.

O'Donnell pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, "We were just about done here anyway," he replied, shaking her hand courteously. "If you could let me know when it would be convenient to speak to Agent Van Pelt?" he directed the question towards her.

"You'll know by Monday," she nodded, also standing. Her body objected to the abrupt change in height and she gripped the desk to stay on her feet. Her eyes followed O'Donnell as he exited her office and crossed the bullpen. The moment he was out of sight she turned to La Roche. "What's happened?"

"Nothing that can't wait," he gestured for her to sit and she did so quite gratefully. "He had been in here for over an hour. I think I'm correct in saying that your doctor hasn't officially cleared you for work yet?"

She tried to glare but it wilted in her exhaustion.

"Agent Hightower is my boss now, after all," he continued, "and I doubt she would be pleased if I worked you to death before she returned." He offered her a small smile as he left her office, reminding her just how manipulative and wily he could be when he wanted.

In that moment, Lisbon took back every bad word she had ever said about the man.

She sat back in her chair, too tired to try and make it to the couch. She didn't care that the door was open and that anyone passing could see her as she closed her eyes. O'Donnell's final question haunted her and she was still unsure how she would have answered if La Roche hadn't interrupted the interview in as timely a fashion as he had.

The obvious answer, and the honest answer, would have been 'yes'. Yes, Jane did indeed tell her that he planned to kill Red John. He had told her in excruciating detail exactly what he intended for the serial killers demise. And while it hadn't occurred exactly as he had inferred, Jane had carried out his overall goal.

And Lisbon had promised herself that she would be honest.

She hadn't even begun to consider the alternative when another voice called from her door, "Well, if Little Lisbon ain't gone and got herself a big, shiny office all to herself."

Lisbon's eyes flew open and she sat straight up at lightning speed as her visitor leaned against the doorframe. She regarded him fondly and gestured for him to come in, "Long time no see, Connor," she smiled.

Detective Philip Connor took in her appearance, eyes finally resting on the bandages still viewable under the collar of her t-shirt and the sling her left arm rested in. "I hear you've had one helluva week, Lisbon."

A.N. I hate creating new characters. I really do. There's a reason I don't keep 'em around for long. Anyway, new case in the next chapter and we'll find out how Jane's holding up. Special thanks go to my three wonderful reviews from the last chapter, in particular Ankhasia Riddle, who put up with my debate on wording! Please let me know what you think!

~Sweetdeath04