A/N: Muahahaha. Next chapter. Hopes you all enjoy. And thank you SO much for all the reviews I got last chapter. Seemed to get loads! You're all epic people! Much love.

Chapter 14

Van Pelt chanced a quick glance down at the lifeless form of Cho at her feet before meeting gazes with the gun barrel again.

'Timothy...'

The man that was Red John was completely different to who they had originally seen. He obviously had been wearing a disguise. But now, he was a pale Caucasian with thinning brown hair, an ugly scar marring the skin just above his brow. Dark bags hung under his eyes from sleepless nights, maybe, or late night plotting. His murky blue irises swam with anger, and his lip quivered slightly as he held the gun in Van Pelt's face. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the semi-automatic pistol that nestled in his palm, probably because he was used to handling a knife. He redid his grip on the gun.

'Shut up. Another word and I'll shoot,' he growled at her.

Van Pelt clenched her jaw and swallowed.

'I-'

'SHUT UP!' Tim yelled, shoving the carbon steel muzzle into the agent's forehead.

Van Pelt sucked in a sharp breath and shut her eyes tight.

'Now...take your gun out, with your left hand.'

Van Pelt reached across and took the glock slowly from its holster, trying to remain as calm as possible so as not to elevate Tim's agitation.

'Give it,' he ordered, holding out his other hand for her gun.

The young agent hesitated, but handed over the weapon. It would be better to cooperate for now. She hoped.

Snatching it from her, Tim stuffed the gun in his jean waist band without taking his gaze from the agent.

'If I'm going down, I'm not going down without a fight,' he hissed, 'Now move.'

He flicked his gun in the direction of the back of the shop and placed the muzzle into the small of her back.

'MOVE.'

Van Pelt did as Tim said and started moving towards the shop. The shop keep didn't seem to have noticed anything, which could be seen as good or bad. If he'd seen and come charging out, chances were he'd have ended up dead. But at the same time, not knowing, meant he couldn't call for help. The wind picked up as they passed out of sight of the shop windows, the cold air biting through Van Pelt's thin blouse, despite the heat of the sun. She took a deep breath, psyching herself up mentally, and in a flash, she brought her elbow up and swung round, planting it in Tim's stomach. But the outcome she'd intended didn't quite happen. He recovered quickly, and soon, Van Pelt was falling to the ground with a blow to the head from the body of the gun.

'Ugh,' Tim muttered, rubbing his stomach slightly. He took a deep breath in before tucking his gun into the back of his pants along with the other and taking Van Pelt's wrists. Tugging her along the dusty ground, the agent's once black trousers started to turn grey and worn. Her ear began to bleed from where he'd hit the earring, but that was the least of his worries as he began to pile the agent into the boot of his car and tag her hands.

Cho began to stir steadily. His head throbbed, his pulse beating out a samba inside his skull. He groaned softly, turning his head into the ground slightly. When he started breathing in dirt, his head shot up and his hand scrambled for his gun. Pushing up from the ground, he scoured the surroundings for his colleague. He held his gun out before him, spinning on the spot, willing Van Pelt's red hair to appear somewhere. His heart pummelled the inside of his chest. Giving up hope of finding the answers outside, he started approaching the shop to ask if the guy in there if he'd seen anything, but he was stopped dead by the dusty black Chrysler that shot out from behind.

Cho started running for it, knowing that Van Pelt would be in there. He raised his gun mid stride and started firing off rounds at the car tyres, careful to aim below the boot just in case Van Pelt was in there and not the back seat. Eventually, a bullet hit, causing a loud bang from the back right hand tyre, and sending the car swerving on the baked tarmac. He swore as the car continued to speed away despite the deflating tyre. As soon as the magazine was spent, he made a run for the SUV and jumped in as fast as he could, throwing the emptied glock onto the passenger seat, keying the ignition and speeding after the Chrysler, hoping that Van Pelt was alright. He clenched his eyes tight as his head throbbed harder, a low groan coming from his lips. The road seemed darker, tinted blue when he reopened his eyelids, and his vision was full of dark spots. He blinked several times, trying to clear it.

'Come on!' he muttered under his breath.

Lisbon watched Rigsby's desk like a hawk, waiting for the moment when he would disappear into the break room for one of his hourly snacks. If she had remembered, and calculated correctly, that moment would be in approximately two minutes. She didn't want to do what she was going to do, with him in the bull pen. Tapping her pen on the table in a speedy rhythm, pretty much in sync with her heart, she turned fractionally this way and that on her swivel chair. She should have known that it wouldn't be safe giving into her thing that she had for Jane. What were the chances that someone would see? She had thought that the blinds were covering every inch of her office that allowed for the outside to see in...but obviously not. She felt jumpy as the moment approached, hoping that Rigsby would still leave, despite the embarrassment that he obviously felt because of what he'd seen happening in Lisbon's office.

Lisbon's luck was in play as Rigsby pulled himself up off of his chair. Even when he was only a fraction above the seat, Lisbon was making a move for the door. She speed walked over to Patrick's couch, skilfully manoeuvring around Rigsby's line of vision. Arriving at the couch side, she snatched Patrick's wrist and yanked with a surprising amount of strength for her petite frame. Patrick yelped as he landed on the floor with a thump.

'What the...'

'Come on!' Lisbon hissed, dragging him as he tried to pick himself up of the floor.

'Did you miss me that much?' Patrick smirked as he brought himself to his feet and followed behind Lisbon, his wrist still tightly clamped in her hand.

Lisbon rolled her eyes and shoved him into her office, hurriedly closing the door behind her. She made sure the blinds were as tight shut as they would go.

'Jane! Rigsby saw us!'

Patrick rolled his wrist carefully, the pain subsiding slightly. 'Yes...that was a slight hiccup.'

'A slight hiccup?' Lisbon hushed her frantic voice.

'He won't tell anyone.'

'How do you know?'

Patrick couldn't help a small smirk appearing on his lips as he watched Lisbon wave her hands around frantically and turn this way and that.

'How can you be ok with this?' Lisbon cried, putting her hand to her forehead.

'I never said I was ok with it.'

'But you're acting all cool as a cucumber as if you don't care!'

Patrick grimaced, 'I don't like cucumber...'

Lisbon rolled her eyes dramatically.

'What are we gonna do?' she asked frustratedly.

'Nothing.'

'What do you mean, nothing?'

'I mean nothing. Unless you want to drag him into a dark room, shine a light in his face and get him to swear to secrecy.'

'You're not helping.'

Patrick grinned. 'And you're not helping yourself by getting all flustered my dear.' He approached his flustered...girlfriend? Hmm...that sounded weird. But anyway. He approached Lisbon and took her gently by the shoulders.

'Calm down.'

Lisbon looked into his eyes, looking a little frightened if Patrick was honest.

'Rigsby wouldn't tell on us. And neither would the rest of the team.'

'What do you mean, the rest of the team?'

'Well, he'll probably end up telling them.'

Patrick observed Lisbon's still unchanging expression. 'You really think you can't trust them?'

'I can trust them.'

'What is it then?'

'Well...I didn't exactly want everyone to know already...I only just found out.'

Patrick smiled softly at her, placing his hands on her shoulders. 'It'll be fine.' He landed a quick kiss on her lips. 'Don't worry.'

Lisbon nodded weakly.

Van Pelt struggled in the small, dark, confined space. She could feel the plastic tag tearing at the skin on her wrists, and the sticky glue attaching the tape to her lips. She tried to call out. But all that would come was muffled noises. She looked around for any identifiable features in her space, but she couldn't see anything. She could tell she was in the back of a car though. The engine noises were enough evidence of that, and the odd bump in the journey. Potholes. She suddenly remembered Cho. She hoped that he was ok, and following her right now, trying to find her. She didn't like the thought that it was Red John who was sat in the front seat of the car, driving her to god knows where, to do god knows what to her. She felt panicky and scared, and just a little claustrophobic. She suddenly felt like one of the girls from an early case. Red hair. Silver tape pulling her lips together with gummy residue...

Suddenly, the car's reasonably smooth journey turned horribly bumpy, and it was coming from just behind her. A flat tyre? Van Pelt hoped so. That would mean that Cho would be able to catch up quicker.

Her undersized world suddenly jerked to the right roughly, causing her to hit the left side of the boot with a heavy thump. The car seemed to be bounding along, the journey now uneven and rugged. Van Pelt moaned softly as her body was thrown up and down inside the confined space, feeling bruises begin to sprout over her sides. And then everything stopped. A loud crash rang in her ears, and the car jerked to a halt. She felt her head smack into something solid inside the boot. Her vision now even blacker than it had been before, was shuttered off by her drifting eyelids. Her head throbbed violently, but she fought to stay conscious...

Cho hurriedly pulled up at the side of the road, watching the Chrysler smoke, its front bumper wrapped around a telegraph pole. He leapt out of the door and ran for the vehicle.

He wanted to check that Van Pelt was alright, but first, he had to make sure that Timothy was safely handcuffed and delivered into the SUV. Handcuffed, at least. He slowly approached the driver's door with his reloaded gun held before him. He took a deep breath. Quickly manoeuvring around into sight of the window, he shoved his gun through the smashed window, pausing for a few moments to check that the slumped figure wouldn't move before pressing his fingers against the side of Tim's neck. He felt a cold chill creep up his spine as the steady, but weakened pulse throbbed against his fingertips.

Pushing his gun into his trouser waist band, Cho pulled against the door until the crushed metal gave way with a heavy creak. The small fragments of window chinked inside of the door shell as it was flung open. Quickly checking for injuries, and finding none except the slight cut and blood dribble on Tim's forehead, Cho threaded his arms underneath Tim's, and dragged him out onto the hardened, dusty ground. He rolled him over onto his front and hastily clasped his police issue handcuffs around the unconscious man's wrists, closing them with a satisfying whirring click. He felt a smirk steal across his face as he fully realised who he'd just handcuffed.

Cho laced his arms underneath Tim's again and hauled him to the back of the car, as a precaution in case he woke up. He checked for guns, and finding none, quickly moved his attention onto the boot of the Chrysler. Shoving his thumb down on the keyhole and pressing it in, the lid sprung open. But before he could do anything else, a reasonably heeled shoe came into contact with his chest, knocking him back onto the ground. He coughed heavily.

Van Pelt swore to herself as she realised she'd just lashed out at Cho. That kick was supposed to have been for Tim. She grimaced as she watched Cho appear again, slowly, rubbing the shoe impression on his white shirt. Van Pelt gave him an apologetic look, her eyes having to say it all until the duct tape was removed. Cho smirked upon seeing Van Pelt's sorry expression. He quickly removed the silver tape, at which point, Van Pelt started blabbering.

'Oh my god, I'm so sorry Cho! I swear that was meant for Tim. I'm really sorry...'

Cho held his hand up. 'Don't worry.' He quickly hauled her out of the small space and stood her on her feet, fetching a pocket knife from his pocket and snapping the plastic tag.

Van Pelt brought her hands back in front of her and rubbed her red raw wrists. 'Sorry...'

'Really. Or I'll put the tape back over your mouth.'

Van Pelt smiled embarrassedly at Cho, her cheeks tinged pink.

'Are you alright?' he asked, taking her wrists gently in his hands to examine them.

'Yeah...I'll be fine. What about you?'

'I'm alright. Now. I believe we have a serial killer to bring in.'

Van Pelt smiled. 'Yes we do.'

Patrick cupped his hands under the cool running water pouring from the steel faucet. Sending it splashing over his face, he breathed in deep and observed himself in the mirror. His hands clamped the sides of the basin. He sniffed. He looked down at his ring finger, the tan line that told of what used to be there. There was something that now suddenly felt wrong, like a sick feeling developing in his stomach. Maybe he moved too fast. Not that he regretted telling Lisbon about how he felt about her...but something had started eating away at him. He almost felt guilty. It had all started when he'd placed that kiss on Lisbon's lips and told her it was going to be fine. And then he realised why he now felt like this, pale as a sheet, his head hung over the sink in the men's room.

Placing a kiss on Ava's lips, I smiled reassuringly at her.

'Don't worry.' I told her.

I then moved down to peck my daughter on the cheek.

'Goodbye, Daddy! I love you!'

'Love you too, sweety.'

I embraced her in a quick hug and ruffled her curly blonde locks before standing again in front of Ava. She still looked unconvinced. She wished me to stop what I was doing, before I got somebody hurt. But I knew that wouldn't happen. I was a professional. I knew what I was doing. I placed another kiss on her sweet lips and took up my briefcase from the floor.

'It'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll see you later.'

Ava nodded uncertainly. I could see the disappointment in her eyes. But the problem was, I knew I was addicted to my work, as I left that morning. It would be about as hard to quit as trying to come off heavy drugs...

It'll be fine. Don't worry. That was exactly what he had said to Lisbon, without even realising it. And those were the words that were choking him as he leant over the sink, cool droplets of water falling from his face onto the white porcelain. He stared at his hand for so long that the surroundings began to blacken out and disappear from view. He could feel tears begin to mingle with the tap water resting on his skin. He couldn't turn back now. He had to continue telling himself that moving forward was the best thing to do. He couldn't dwell on his past forever, no matter how much he longed to go back to that morning and just stay at home with his wife and daughter, so that he wouldn't cause their deaths and so that his wife would be happy.

Lisbon was surely his future? And that was what he had to concentrate on. He took a long deep breath and pulled himself up, swiping his hand across his face. Grabbing a few too many paper towels from the dispenser, he wiped his face off, staring himself in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.

Rigsby observed Patrick returning from the direction of the men's room. His brows crumpled together as he saw the consultant's face. His skin was pale as snow, and his hair looked a little more ruffled than usual, his eyes looked darker.

'Hey, you alright man?'

Patrick seemed to pull himself from a trance and looked fleetingly in Rigsby's direction, but not meeting gazes with him, serving him a quick nod.

'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Patrick murmured inaudibly, carefully sitting on the couch. He seemed to consider for a moment before leaning back. He sat catatonic, staring into the distance.

'What?'

'Doesn't matter.'

'You know...you can tell me right?' Rigsby said nervously.

Patrick gave him another absentminded nod.

'So?'

'So, what?'

'You gonna tell me?'

'No.'

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room. Rigsby's chair squeaked loudly as he shifted slightly.

'Uh...you want a cup of tea?' Rigsby asked, providing himself with an excuse to leave the room.

'No...'

'Ok.' Rigsby left promptly, moving in on the tea and the refrigerator.

Van Pelt's gaze flickered into the back of the car every now and then, at the silent figure of Timothy Matthews, aka, Red John. He had become conscious again not long after having put him in the back seat, and he seemed to refuse to talk. Van Pelt was nervous that he would try and escape at some point, despite the handcuffs that locked his hands together. After all, he was a dangerous, cunning man, and it felt like he was being a bit too quiet. She switched her gaze back to the roads only a few blocks away now from the CBI headquarters. She had butterflies in her stomach. She could barely believe they'd caught him. After so many years. They'd finally caught Red John. She shifted in her seat slightly, watching Timothy's blank eyes survey the surroundings through the rear view.

A few minutes later, Cho was bringing the SUV to a halt inside the CBI parking lot, applying the handbrake and pulling the keys from the ignition. Both agents stepped out of the vehicle and moved around to the passenger door which would open upon Timothy.

Cho grasped the handle and swiftly pulled, causing the shiny black door to swing open. He grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him out onto the solid concrete, Van Pelt quickly taking hold of the other arm and shutting the door at the same time.

'Recognise this place?' Cho said.

A/N: Tehe. What did you think? I think this story must be drawing to a close soon... Don't know when though :P
And, just wondering, for anybody who's seen the Season 2 Mentalist Finale. What did you think of the way Red John was presented physically? Is it just me, or doesn't it do him justice? Seriously. Plastic coat and halloween mask?