Chapter five! Although this chapter has taken the longest, it is probably the worst FanFic chapter I have written in my whole life. The second half of this chapter is shit, in my opinion. I'm sorry for that. But I hope you enjoy the general ideas etc! Haha.

- Ashlee-Rose :)

Disclaimer: I can't think of anything witty, so... The Mentalist isn't mine. There. Simple, and to the point. :)

5. Distracted

Lisbon

The morning California sunshine beats down on my face through the window, waking me from my sleep. Without opening my eyes, I groan, rolling over to put my back to the sun. And bump into something beside me.

"Oof," I huff, opening my eyes to see him, on my side of the bed of course. We are both sharing the same half of the mattress, and I can barely move because I am so close to the edge. I gently elbow him in the stomach. Patrick opens his sleepy eyes and looks at me for a moment, but then closes them again with a hum of contentment.

"Do you mind moving over?" I grumble, but I'm trying not to smile. "Bed hog." I give him a light shove, to no response. I place my hand back on his chest, and my gaze instantly flickers to the gorgeous gold wedding band on my ring finger, admiring it. He chose a lovely wedding ring for my delicate finger.

Before I can gain enough arm room to give a good push, his hand suddenly grabs my wrist, surprising me. His eyes open again, twinkling with humour this time, and he pushes my arm back down.

"I don't think so." He says with a grin, "I'm quite comfortable where I am." I roll my eyes at his childish attempt to irritate me, and turn over so my back is to him, pretending to be annoyed. Of course, he doesn't buy it one bit.

Within a few seconds, his hand is resting on my stomach, and I can feel his lips lightly touching my shoulder.

"Teresa," He breathes on the back of my neck, chuckling, and I hold back a shiver. "I know you're not really angry." I can't help the smile that spreads across my face, but carefully re-arrange my expression as I flip back over to scowl at him. In one quick movement, he pulls my head onto his shoulder, his arm around my back. I see him grin adorably at my forced frown.

"Do you really want me to move over?" His words tickle my ear, and I resist the urge to laugh. He knows me too well. I give up the annoyed pretense and smile up at him. His lips gently touch mine, before drifting to my forehead, and I feel my eyelids drift shut.

I fall asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, totally content...

"Mmgnaahh!" Teresa shot up in her bed like a jack-in-the-box, squinting in the sunlight. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought she was going to have a heart attack. From the armchair, Jane's head snapped up, and he looked at her curiously, despite his bleary eyes. From the look on his face, she knew that he was aware she hadn't had a nightmare this time. His hair was rumpled from sleep, sticking up in all directions... Exactly how it had looked in her dream. She felt her cheeks heat up, and quickly jumped out of bed, fleeing the room without a word.

In her bathroom, Teresa looked at her own face in the mirror, trying her best to forget that dream. But it had just been so... So damn vivid! She could almost still feel his lips on her face, her shoulders... Her face deepened another shade of pink.

"Lisbon?" There was a knock on the door. "Are you okay?" She brushed some cold water on her burning cheeks, trying to make her face go back to its normal colour. It looked like she had just run a marathon, with her flushed face, shallow breathing, and too-bright eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen," Teresa called back to him, glad that her voice was steady. There was silence for a moment, then she heard Jane walk down the stairs.

After a few more minutes, Teresa had managed to get herself back into cool, calm Lisbon mode. She unlocked the door and made her way back to her bedroom silently. She glanced out the window at her street, and almost laughed at how silly her fears from the night before seemed. With new-found determination, she dressed in her favorite pants and a deep green button-up shirt Jane had once commented on.

She paused, looking at the off-duty gun peeking out from the underside of her mattress. Without a second thought, she slung her discreet gun holster around her hips and locked the pistol in, hiding it with the hem of her shirt.

As she was leaving, her cell phone buzzed on her side table. She picked it up, noting the caller id 'Rigsby'. Before she could greet him, he cut her off, voice tense.

"Boss. You're not going to believe this."

Patrick

Patrick sat at the breakfast counter of Lisbon's kitchen, cradling a mug of hot tea in his hands. He was deep in thought, about Red John as usual. But his brain kept flicking back to Lisbon, unable to concentrate.

He couldn't help but wonder what that morning had been about. He had awoken to a strange sound, only to see Lisbon shoot up in bed, eyes glittering with something strangely wistful. She had fled before he had a chance to read her face properly, but her face had been stained red.

He took a sip of tea, shaking his head. He always told her that she was the most transparent person he knew (apart from Rigsby, of course), but that wasn't completely true. Sometimes he had no idea what was going on in the depths of those green eyes of hers... His ringing phone pulled him away from his thoughts.

"Hello?" he answered, still slightly distracted. But the sound of Van Pelt's frenzied voice through the phone jerked him sharply into focus.

"Jane! Jane, I think we have Red John! We have him!" Without realising what he was doing, Patrick stood, knocking the stool to the floor. He ignored it, pressing the phone to his ear so hard it hurt.

"What?" He asked, uncharacteristically speechless. Red John, caught? Not possible.

"We were dusting that letter he sent to Highton for prints, just procedure, and there was a tiny print on the corner that didn't belong to Highton!" Her voice was fast and Patrick could hear frantic typing in the background. "So I ran the print as fast as possible, it was pretty hard, because it was such a light print... But we got a match! A name came up... It looks like we've found him, Jane!"

Patrick took a deep breath in, intently focused on Van Pelt's voice. "Van Pelt, he's mine."

He heard a sigh from the other line. "I know," She said quietly. "Rigsby, Cho and I are waiting for you and Lisbon before we go. Rigsby is filling Lisbon in as we speak."

As she said this, Lisbon ran down the stairs towards Jane, her own cell phone pressed to her ear.

"We'll be there in ten minutes." Patrick told Van Pelt, and hung up. Lisbon followed suit, and for a second there was silence.

Her eyes met his, face stony and determined. Without a word, they both left the house, got into Lisbon's car, and left. That shared gaze had said it all.

BREAK

The small house on the edge of Sacramento had the impression of being run-down, Patrick noted numbly, but deceptively so. The garden was a little too groomed at the edges of the footpath, and the door looked recently painted. The huge amount of back-up agents who had insisted on coming along were making Patrick nervous. Red John was his, and no random police officer was going to take that away from him.

Lisbon had been keeping an eye on him the entire journey. He knew she was worried about him, and appreciated it, but now his need to kill Red John was even stronger than ever. It wasn't just about revenge anymore. Lisbon was now at risk, and Patrick knew he couldn't handle another person he cared about being taken away by that psycopathic bastard.

They all climbed out of the car, but before Patrick could take so much as one step toward the house, a small, but strong hand grabbed his forearm.

"Jane- Patrick." The use of his first name made Patrick flinch. "Look at me." Lisbon's pale face entered his line of vision. She looked nervous, a contrast to her usual 'I'll-kick-your-ass' attitude. "I know you want to kill Red John, and I know you want to be the only one. I understand, Patrick. I know." He voice was softly pleading. "But you have to understand – None of these officers are going to pause, give you a gun, and let you face him alone." She gazed into his eyes, silently begging him to listen. "Please – Just settle for seeing him go down. We will only shoot in self-defense. Are you with me?"

Jane looked at her, wanting so badly to agree with her. To just let the cops do their job, and not cause Lisbon any strife. But he couldn't.

"Bosco didn't always follow that rule though, did he?" Patrick wanted to punch himself at the hurt that clouded her face. He hated himself for using Bosco against her again.

But then she did something that he didn't see coming. She grabbed a spare bullet-proof vest, shoved it over his head, and pressed a gun into his hand. Her fingers paused on his arm, and her face took on a look of grim acceptance.

"Boss, what are you doing?" Cho murmured from behind them. "I know this is Red John, but Jane isn't allowed to operate a firearm." Lisbon turned to him, face hard.

"I know. But Jane needs to do this, Cho." She met Patrick's eyes again, holding them. There was a deep sadness in them, an sufferance of what was to come. And that worried Patrick.

The next few minutes were a blur. Agents surrounding the house, Cho smashing down the door, and all the police pouring in. Patrick stuck close to Lisbon's side, keeping his eyes on the brown ponytail bobbing in front of him. His heart was beating so fast, and he could feel it throbbing in his neck.

This could be it.

As Lisbon, Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho and Patrick rounded a corner, they came across a man sitting at a small table. The look on his face was slightly scared, and disbelieving. Patrick quickly ran his eyes up and down, taking in every little detail about this man. He was of average height, his eyes a clear, flawless blue. He was about the same age as Patrick, with brown hair thinning on both sides of his head. Patrick hated him as soon as he set eyes on him.

"Woah, woah!" The man stood, his eyes on the guns being pointed at him. He appeared to be nervous, but Patrick wasn't sure if it was truthful. "What's going on here? Who are you?"

"Sir, could you please put your hands behind your head and get on your knees." Lisbon ordered in her cop-voice. For the first time, the man's eyes flickered to Patrick's. And Patrick immediately saw it. Underneath all the fake emotion was an undeniable cold, hard emptiness. It was like two dark potholes, disguised by fluttering blue curtains, deceptively innocent.

The man broke eye contact, getting to his knees. He gazed up at Van Pelt innocently, his face bewildered and confused. Damn, he's a good actor, Patrick thought. But not good enough.

Without taking his eyes off the man, who was now being handcuffed by Van Pelt, Patrick stepped over to a noticeboard hanging over the table. He didn't know why, but it seemed to pull him towards it. It had a shopping list pinned to it, along with a few newspaper clippings, unimportant. But then Patrick's eyes landed on something hanging from the corner, partly concealed by a scrap of paper, hastily and badly hidden. To anyone else, it would have just looked like a regular locket on a chain.

Without thinking, Patrick reached out a hand and turned the locket over. There, engraved on the back, were the initials A + P. Angela's locket.

Patrick spun, but before he could do anything, two gunshots rang out. He instinctively hit the ground.

Van Pelt crumpled to the floor, gasping in shock and pain. Her hand went limp, releasing the man, who instantly ran with uncanny speed toward the back door. Lisbon's gun went up, aiming straight at Red John's head. But then Patrick's eyes fell on one of the police officers standing in the doorway. His eyes were crazy, and his gun was pointed not at the escaping man, but at Lisbon. Before Patrick could even move, Lisbon fell to the ground with a gasp. Blood bloomed on her lower back, below the protective vest she wore. Patrick's gaze moved from the feebly moving woman on the ground to the man wrenching through the door, backwards and forwards for a heartbeat. After what felt like an hour, Patrick took a step towards the door, eyes fixed on the back of the man who had killed his family. But then he heard a sound that made him stop cold.

"Patrick..." The small voice was scared and wavering. He spun around, all rational thought fleeing his mind, and saw Lisbon. She had a hand clutched to her side, but blood was pouring through her fingers, a scary amount of blood. Patrick stopped mid-step.

Angela, lying on the ground, covered in blood. Lisbon, lying on the ground, covered in blood. He cared about them both. But there was a difference that mattered – Lisbon was still breathing. She could still be saved. In that moment, something inside Patrick stretched and snapped, the thin band connecting everything he did to his thoughts of revenge. Lisbon mattered more than all of that.

Without a second thought, he threw himself at her side, pulling the hem of her shirt up and lifting her red-stained fingers to see the damage. A gaping wound was in her side.

"Lisbon? Lisbon!" Her eyelids flickered, and she focused on him for a second. Her hand raised slightly, like she wanted to touch him. "Patrick." She said quietly. She opened her mouth to speak again. But before she had a chance to, she went limp, hand falling to the floor with a thump.

Patrick missed everything else that happened. How Rigsby shot the traitor police officer straight in the chest, killing him instantly, and kneeled by Van Pelt's side. How Cho chased Red John, running faster than he had in his life, and delivered a killing shot to his chest, and how Red John smiled as he died. He drew his signature smiley face in the dirt beside him, before slumping against the ground. Patrick missed all these things, because he was trying to hold Lisbon's life-blood inside her body, tears silently trailing down his face as her pulse faded.

BREAK

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, it had been grimly announced that Teresa Lisbon was hanging on the brink of death. The delicate balance between living and dying was being tested.

It had been eight hours since then. Five cups of tea had been drank. Twenty doctors, surgeons and nurses had been rushed in and out of the room. And Lisbon was still not awake. Patrick was trying not to stare at her lifeless hand, sitting on top of the covers, but somehow his eyes kept being drawn to it. It was funny how something so normal, so human, could look so pale. It was almost blue. The slim fingers that had punched him so hard not that long ago now looked so fragile, as though they were made of opaque glass.

"Patrick?" The soft voice from beside him made Patrick jump slightly, not an easy feat. He looked up, bleary-eyed, to see Van Pelt gazing at him. She was sitting in a plastic hospital chair beside him, her shot leg now bandaged. She took a deep breath, then looked him right in the eyes.

"You love her, don't you?" Patrick glanced at the bed beside him, where Lisbon lay, unmoving. She was hooked up to countless drips, and her face was pale as a sheet. After they had spent five hours sitting in the waiting room like zombies while she had been operated on, a sympathetic doctor had said the unit could sit at her bedside in case she woke up. Which she still hadn't, four hours later.

He sighed. "I... I think so." Van Pelt just nodded, as though she had known all along. Which she probably had, Patrick noted. Cho looked up, and he didn't look surprised either. He shot a grimly amused look at Rigsby, who had just spat out a mouthful of coffee, and was now staring at Patrick as though he had just spoken an alien language. Patrick almost chuckled, and would have if the situation had been different. Rigsby, as usual, was completely oblivious to most things around him.

"What? You... Love Lisbon?" His voice was as shocked as his face. Patrick stood without answering, walking over to Lisbon.

The bullet had pierced Lisbon's intestines, and deeply penetrated her navel. She had lost a lot of blood, a significant amount. The doctors had 'done all they could' and 'now it was just up to chance'. She was in a very unstable condition. There was a large chance she would never wake up. All these things, from the mouths of countless doctors, and yet Patrick still couldn't believe a word of it.

It was tearing him apart, the worry for this woman. Running a hand through his hair and trying to ignore the gawping Rigsby, he reached out and lightly pulled Lisbon's hand into his own. Come on, Lisbon. You'll get through this. He squeezed her fingers gently.

There was a part of Patrick that was rejoicing at the news that Red John was dead, but most of him was focused on Lisbon. It was amazing how much he had overestimated the power of revenge – It meant nothing if Lisbon was going to be gone from his life. It was almost as if the black hole of revenge-driven fury had been slowly filling in, and he hadn't even noticed until now. The part of him that was still mourning for Angela and Charlotte had been slightly patched up by this woman. He couldn't lose her. Not now.

Teresa

Never underestimate the pain of a gunshot wound. It is like poison flooding through your veins, like your entire body is slowly being set alight.

Through the red haze that clouded her vision, Teresa saw Red John running for the door, Cho at his heels. She clutched at the warmth pouring from her stomach, eyes streaming with pain. Then a hand was pulling hers away from the wound, and she almost screamed out loud. But then she saw his face through the fog – Patrick. And she realised that he was letting Red John get away to help her. As the last spots of blackness took her away, she reached out a hand to grab his. She tried to say his name, to tell him how she felt. But she didn't get there in time, and her hand fell to the ground. She was claimed by the darkness.

BREAK

Beeping and white. That was all Teresa could hear or see. She tried to yell at someone to shut off the irritating sound, she was trying to sleep, but the words couldn't get past her throat. She tried to open her eyes, but it felt like someone had weighted them shut.

"...want some more coffee, Rigs?" "Yeah, thanks." Teresa paused in her attempts to make her body function, listening closely. Was that... Van Pelt?

"Van Pelt?" She said – Or, tried to say. Again, no words could pass her throat. She suddenly felt exhausted. Why was everything so hard?

The next time she came back to conciousness, she could hear the sound of crinkling foil. After a few moments – A sigh. "Rigsby, do you have to eat right now?" The tired, soft voice of Van Pelt. "Sorry. I eat when I'm nervous." The crinkling stopped. "Correction - You eat all the time." Van Pelt's voice was quietly teasing, and there was a snicker. Teresa almost smiled, but then was dragged down by darkness again.

The next time she woke up, Teresa was aware that there was a throbbing pain in her side. She flinched as a voice sounded from right above her. "... some more pain relief?" Cho? "Nurse? I think it's time to give her some more pain medication." He repeated, sounding concerned, and Teresa felt a prick in her arm. Then the pain in her hip slowly subsided, and she drifted back to sleep.

BREAK

Teresa slowly became aware of a pressure on her left hand. She felt a squeeze, and tried to move her fingers in response. Come on! She inwardly yelled at her own hand, feeling idiotic.

"Nurse!" A very familiar voice that made her heart leap. "I think her fingers just moved!" The voice was cautiously excited, and disbelieving. A rush of sound and bustle started up around her, making Teresa flinch. She tried to open her eyes again, and finally, was successful. Her eyelids felt heavy and sticky, but after a few blinks, one face came into focus. Patrick.

"Oh god, I am so glad you're okay." Without his normal control, he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his arms. She looked up at him, a confused, dazed and slightly embarrassed when she saw the rest of the unit behind him. But before she could speak, he was kissing her lightly on the mouth. Am I really awake? She wondered dreamily, kissing him back.

When she opened her eyes, Van Pelt was smiling at the ground, Cho was smiling at Rigsby, and Rigsby was trying to contain his shock. Patrick smiled at her gently, and told her the best news she'd heard in her life: "Red John is gone." His voice was equal parts happy and sad. "It's over."

She put her hands on either side of his face, and pulled his mouth to hers again, ignoring the nurses that rushed in at the sound of the rapidly beeping heart monitor.

Ta-da! More fluff!

Just for the record, I hate the second half of this chapter. You would not believe how many times I have re-written this – it's one of the reasons it took so long! I hate the way I killed off Red John – it was far too easy, yes? But anyway, maybe Red John was just... taken by surprise? Yeah, that's what I'm going with. :b

By the way, in case I wasn't quite clear enough (which is highly possible) the person who shot Lisbon and Van Pelt was one of RJ's people in the police force. Before Rigsby shot him. Oh yeah. :)

And Lisbon's heart rate monitor was rapidly beeping because Jane was kissing her. :)

There will be an epilogue coming, and then it's the end! I hope you have enjoyed, and I love you for reading my story! It means so much. :)

- Ashlee-Rose :)

P.s. Hint: I enjoyed writing the epilogue far more than I should have. Haha. :)