A/N: Well, I was gonna try to get this chapter up before I left for church this morning, but I was being rushed. But it's still here, just a little later than anticipated. I know y'all seemed excited about this whole date thing, but I regret to inform you that this chapter is not it. However, there just might be a date chapter in the future, so I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. Besides, this one is important! ;)

Thank you to Jisbon4ever, Iloveplotbunnies, 13 Jo, and yaba for reviewing chapter four! :)

Chapter Five

Dates soon become a regular part of their day, even if it's only as simple as eating lunch together in the break room. At first, Lisbon threatens Jane with paperwork if he so much as touches her while they're at work, but as the weeks pass she becomes quite fond of the way his hand lingers near the small of her back as they walk, or how his fingers idly brush her arm when they're alone in the car – Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt now drive separately, having learned their lesson after riding along with Jane and Lisbon the first time.

Jane sits in the passenger seat, feigning offense as Lisbon makes fun of him.

"I still can't believe you were wrong. I mean, the butler? That's so cliché – did you honestly think he poisoned Mrs. Waldrop?"

"What? It makes perfect sense! He served drinks to her every day, so he had the means. He was horrendously underpaid and she flirted mercilessly with him right under her husband's nose, so he had the motive. How was I to know the husband was responsible when all evidence obviously pointed to the butler?"

"The butler was framed. If you had used real detective work and paid attention to the actual investigation, you would've realized Mr. Waldrop's drug connections. Besides, you said so yourself – she was flirting with another man right in front of his face, so he was obviously going to be angry... Patrick Jane was wrong. God, that sounds good though."

"Oh hush, woman!"

"You know what would sound even better? Patrick Jane admitting that he was wrong."

"I don't think that's going to happen. Sorry to disappoint you, my dear."

"No, you're not."

"You're right, not really. Now, how about that closed case pizza?"

"Well, it looks like the rest of the team has plans, so I guess it's just us. How does my apartment sound?"

"Splendid."

"All right," Lisbon nods, already signaling for the next exit.

-xxx-

Lisbon shrugs off her blazer as she walks through the door, tossing it noncommittally across the sofa while Jane carefully hangs his jacket over a kitchen chair.

"Here," she hands him the phone. "You can order the pizza while I jump in the shower."

"Why can't we both take a shower? Isn't it big enough for two people?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She quirks her eyebrow, hoping her cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

"Jane, why on earth would you even think that I–"

"Never mind, Lisbon. Go enjoy your shower."

"Yea, right," she mutters as she quickly walks up the stairs. "No snooping!" she calls over her shoulder.

He hears a distinctive click as she shuts and locks the bathroom door. No snooping, hmm? It hadn't even entered his mind until she put it off limits.

Minutes later he slinks up the stairs with a playful grin on his face and the phone tucked against one ear, informing the Pizza Shack employee on the other end of the line of just how much cheese should be on a proper extra cheese pizza. He stops in front of the bathroom door, picking the lock with ease and poking his head through the doorway. Despite the efforts of the fan, the entire room is fogged with steam, and the air smells distinctly of cinnamon.

"Lisbon!" he chirps.

"Jane!" she squeals, and he can tell she's embarrassed without even seeing the rosy blush on her cheeks. "What the hell are you doing? I'm in the shower!"

"What's your address? Dan needs it so he can deliver our pizza."

She doesn't have to see his face to know there's a huge grin plastered across it.

"13A Rosewood Drive," she mutters.

"I can't hear you, Lisbon. The shower curtain must be blocking your voice. I can move it for you, if you need me to...," he trails off, barely able to hide his amusement.

"Really, Jane?" She quickly says as she grabs the end of the shower curtain to hold it still, not trusting the mischievous tone of his words, before raising her voice, "13A Rosewood Drive. Now get out."

-xxx-

Although he really does try to restrain himself from looking around Lisbon's apartment, one can only be sufficiently occupied with Sudoku puzzles for so long. He hops off the couch and wanders toward her desk, finding various books on leadership and an assortment of sticky notes scattered about. Adjacent to her desk sits a broad bookshelf, and he notes with some amusement that her collection consists almost entirely of well-read Jane Austen novels, mixed among a few other classics and the occasional poetry book. Amidst a bunch of knick-knacks on the top shelf, he finds a photo album, setting it aside to glance through before moving on to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

Jane quickly makes himself at home in her kitchen, though he wishes her selection of teas was a little more varied – Lipton is really not what he would classify as good tea. He pours milk into a blue porcelain mug before adding the hot water and dunking a tea bag. Mug of tea in one hand and photo album in the other, he settles comfortably into the leather couch. Though not nearly as comfortable as his couch in the bullpen, the worn leather smells distinctly of Lisbon, instilling an entirely different sense of comfort as he stretches the album open on his lap.

"Jackpot," he muses quietly to himself, smirking in amusement as pictures of a toddler with wide green eyes, messy brown waves, and pouty lips stare up at him from the first page – her trademark look is present in almost every picture.

He turns page after page, gathering small glimpses of her life through the years. A dark-haired baby pops up in pictures of a very smiley, pre-school-aged Lisbon. Two more fussy infants appear a few pages apart later on, and a bittersweet smile tugs at his lips. Despite the mischievous smile on young Lisbon's face, they are the very picture of innocence; they could never have known that in only a decade's time, their family would be torn apart not just once, but three times, leaving behind only the fearless sister out of the raucous bunch pictured in front of him.

He finishes his tea just as he turns to the last page, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this was probably their last picture together – Lisbon is only in her late teens in this photo, but her tired eyes reflect more years than she's seen and contradict her cheery smile. Her appearance in this particular instance strikes him as hauntingly familiar – her dark locks are cut into a short bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Where have I seen that before?

Images of bloodied corpses swim to the front of his mind, throats slashed and bodies mangled while a smeary smiley face stares at the victims of its creator. His face pales as the pieces fall into place in his mind, so lost in thought that he doesn't even register the door bell ringing.

Lisbon rushes down the steps clad in sweatpants and a tank top, still scrunching a towel through her hair as she opens the door to pay for the pizza.

"Earth to Patrick Jane – didn't you hear the doorbell?" she questions, simultaneously sliding the pizza onto the coffee table and plopping down next to him on the couch.

It's then that she notices the photo album resting on his lap as he sits there merely staring at it, seemingly transfixed.

"What part of 'No snooping' did you not understand?" She teases in a mock-serious tone, reaching across to move the album out of the way. Confusion settles in when he still doesn't offer up any response, and she tentatively touches his shoulder. "Jane? ... Patrick, is everything okay?"

Her gentle tone draws his gaze toward hers, his expression unreadable. "It's you, isn't it?" He voices the question so softly, she almost misses it.

"What are you talking about, Jane?"

"Red John's victims...they're all you."

She snatches her hand away as if it's been burned and stands up, face paling in surprise.

"What? No, I...I don't know what you mean." Her voice falters, the excuse falling flat on Jane's ears.

"Don't lie to me, Lisbon. I've read all of the case files, and you told me yourself what happened when you were seventeen...your brothers, Red John, the victims' appearances – it's not a coincidence. Why the hell are you even on this case? Doesn't Minelli realize how dangerous it is for you to be – "

"He doesn't know," she quietly interrupts him. "No one does."

"Oh, God. Lisbon...," he trails off when she averts her gaze. "Teresa, look at me." Her eyes are defiant when they meet his. "You shouldn't be on this case and you know it. If any one of them knew about this, you would never have – "

"Exactly!" She moves away as she cuts him off, indignant. "That is exactly why no one knows. This case is mine, Jane. I am going to catch that bastard and make sure he rots in jail for the rest of his life for what he did to my family, to me..."

Lisbon's hands are shaking with rage as she struggles to control her emotions, trying to ignore the twinge of fear that always pricks the back of her mind when the topic of Red John comes up.

"You don't understand; I have to do this for them, Jane. My brothers deserve justice, and you won't take that away from me." An unwavering determination resonates through her shaky voice.

"I'm not trying to. It's gonna be okay." He pulls her into a gentle embrace from behind, slowly rocking from side to side in an effort to calm her down. "Everything's gonna be all right. Everything is fine." He murmurs the words into her ear, carefully adjusting his position to rub her shoulders in a soothing motion.

She leans back against him, eyes eventually drooping shut as his calming voice completes its desired effect on her nerves. He sweeps her off her feet as she drifts to sleep, carrying her to bed and placing a simple kiss on her forehead. Not wanting to leave her alone for the night, he settles himself as comfortably as possible on her couch, falling into a fitful sleep as unwanted images of Lisbon's lifeless body on the floor, and a taunting smile painted in her blood, invade his subconscious.