Previously: It was too much; thinking about the meaning of his moving the ring was too much for her at the moment. He had asked for her help, so she focused on getting him the remedy for his shocky system. And he was right; her coffee was not enough fortification for this morning.

Ten minutes after Lisbon served their tea, she realized he likely had had nothing to eat since the fish tacos the evening before. She wordlessly got him some toast. After that he seemed to wake up a bit more - enough to ask for eggs as well, and to reach over to the bowl of fruit on the counter to snag a tangerine for himself.

When he was finished eating, he said, "Sorry about the scare. I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah, right," she said."That's a pretty big change. Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Lisbon. I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?" While he appeared fully recovered, she was still concerned about where his mind would take him after what he had done.

"No. I want to be alone for a while. But thanks for the offer."

"Wait, before you go - is your landline hooked up here?" It was a silly question, she knew - she had seen no telephones plugged into any jacks on her searches through the house. But she had not wanted to say outright that she was afraid for him and wanted some way of keeping in contact.

"Worried I'm so off my head I might get lost and need you to come after me?"

Of course he would see through her. She replied, "Of course not. Off your head would be an improvement." His nose wrinkled, eyes squinted, and he growled in amused acknowledgment. She continued, "But it's a good idea for you to have your cell with you. And I want to check in with the team."

"Here. You should have the cell phone." He handed it to her and made for the door. "If I need something I can flag down a passing motorist or something."

"No, Jane, take the phone, please."

"I have to get out of here. Now." And he was gone.

"Very reassuring, Jane."

Their whole conversation from the moment he asked for tea until he walked out the door seemed so normal - workaday Lisbon using common sense and her natural authority to attempt to rein in fantastical Jane fluttering away on some shenanigan or other - as to be surreal. It for damn sure did nothing to help her headache.

IIIIIIIIII

She waited until 8:30 to call Van Pelt.

"Hey, Boss. How are things with Jane?"

"Better, I think."

"Any idea yet when you'll be back?"

"No, I just don't know. Please tell me you were able to get my stuff shipped out."

"It should get to you sometime tomorrow in the afternoon."

"Good. Thanks again for going to the trouble."

"No problem. Just let me know if there is anything else you need, and I'll get it out to you as soon as possible."

"How's the case going?"

"We're on top of it, Boss."

"I'm sure you are. You're a good team. Jane might be surprised at how far standard, competent police work can take an investigation, but I haven't forgotten."

"Boss, you may hate me for asking, but how are you really doing?"

"You want the truth?"

"Yes, of course."

"I have no idea. Things are going to be ok. But it's so complicated that I just don't know how they are right now." Lisbon shocked herself that her own defenses were so low that the words slipped out before she could stop them. Embarrassed at her lapse, she said, "Look, don't worry about us. I've got to go now. Thanks again for shipping that stuff for me. Bye!" And ended the call.

"Bye!" Van Pelt responded, giving the phone an exasperated look when she realized her boss had hung up on her. She had sounded more like herself until that final exchange. Weary and stressed out as a state of being was almost a default setting for Lisbon, and it really was the best that could be expected of that situation.

But the few times in the field that the younger woman had seen her guard slip that much had been during the most difficult circumstances. Those were the kind of cases that went for more than a week, with Lisbon obviously getting even less sleep than Jane. She would order the rest of the team to get some rest, but there was no one to give her the order when she needed it. Woe betide any agent who suggested she could use some sleep. And even Jane was leery of the attempt; he responded either by bringing out some plan of action that was more reckless than usual in his desperation to finish the investigation, or by behaving as unobtrusively as possible so her wrath would not be turned on him.

The guys had told Van Pelt of an instance before her time when Jane had gone so far as to put the woman in a trance state and guided her to sleep until completely rested. Lisbon did indeed awake refreshed and able to think clearly thirteen hours later. It was the thinking clearly part that got Jane into hot water - she had remembered that his was the last voice she heard before falling asleep, and reasoned out what he had done. That was the only time Lisbon had ever threatened to have him permanently removed from the SCU, going so far as filing a formal complaint against him. They were never quite sure how Jane had wormed his way back into her good graces, and seemed to enjoy speculating about it. Cho did finally suggest that Jane may have simply sincerely apologized.

Van Pelt was unsure if it was a good sign that Lisbon had let herself be that open, or a sign of extreme duress. Giving it some thought, she decided it was best to stick with the plan of checking up on them in person. Her conscience would be happier with Lisbon ticked off at her for unnecessary interference than it would be with knowing that Lisbon had needed her help and did not get it.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon spent the rest of the morning alternating between reading her book on the couch and walking out on the beach. Sometimes the reading slowed into sleep and she caught herself jerking awake again. Waiting patiently for him to return, not knowing how he was tormenting himself now was draining her beyond the lack of sleep.

IIIIIIIIII

He did not know where to go, what to do, to alleviate the pressure inside his skull. Walking on the road was a precarious thing. With each passing vehicle, his brain fed him images of tripping and falling into the road right in front of a car. Once the thought crossed his mind that it would be easier than sorting himself out, he forced himself off the road down onto the beach.

His head hurt, and he resented it. He missed his family so much. He resented having to go on without them. He was angry with his wife for not protecting him from Lisbon. She should have. This woman had invaded his life, his mind, his emotions, and he had counted on his wife - her memory, her death - to usher Lisbon out. The more fool, him. The woman had settled herself in his bedroom, bedded down with his ghosts, and gotten friendlier with them than he had managed himself, and then somehow had managed to nudge him beyond the grief he clung to as to the very foundations of his identity so that he had finally, after so many years, moved his wedding ring off its proper hand to the other. His wife had failed to protect him from this. It was her fault.

His thoughts were wearing him down. Looking for a place to sit, he saw he had gotten to one of those points where the mountains came right down to the beach. He settled himself on a rocky outcropping to take a breather from that line of thought. He saw how silly it was. He tried not to laugh out loud. After all, he was in public. People would see him laughing like a maniac and think - justly perhaps - that maniac was precisely what he was. And he would have no proof to the contrary. But the laughter would not stay down, would not stay within. It leaked out. Trying to stop it was like bailing the Titanic - would have taken one hell of a huge bucket to have done a drop of good. So he laughed. And laughed. He laughed until his knees gave out, and he flopped onto the sand with his back against the rock, laughing. In short order, the final remnants of rational thought left to him observed how odd it was he had never before realized "hysterical laughter" was more than a figure of speech, rather than an actual phenomenon. He kept laughing. His sides ached, and he became exhausted, and people were staring at him. He laughed so long and so hard that tears came. That, his small remnant of rationality considered, was a mercy because at least crying was quiet and attracted no more attention. The sun had not had the chance to warm the rock he was sitting against, but it was getting strong enough to warm the sand a bit and keep him from becoming dangerously cold and damp. By and by, the weeping ceased. He slid further down to lie curled up fetal-style on the sand, sheltered from most eyes by the rocks around him. Abject weariness, layers of it, years of it, drew him down into blessed, sweet sleep.

IIIIIIIII

Awareness increased. He became conscious of light - through his eyelids, the bright bloody redness. He saw it. His skin felt it. What had been blanket now felt like a lead apron. The lullaby of ocean became oppressive noise. His limbs felt encumbered. He wondered if he had been buried in the sand. Tests revealed that his fingers were free, and his feet. Then elbows and knees loosened. Hips and shoulders were a bit more recalcitrant, but did yield to the persuasion of will. Sitting up took priority over opening his eyes. He shielded them with his hand before making that attempt. He stood up. He felt empty like the skull of a steer bleached in the desert sun, stripped of all weighty flesh by the blowing dust - become art after the architecture of the beast was abandoned. It would be a poor gift to bring back to Lisbon, but it was still a better one than he had originally offered her - the fetid gore of his shredded soul. He must make his way back to her.

More than a little disoriented in space and time, he felt relieved to note that his foot prints were intact. If he had forgotten everything, at least he knew which direction he had come. It was not like he had amnesia, forgotten his own name. He had not forgotten, had he? No, he was still Patrick Jane. But the couple of seconds it took for him to think it were a trifle disturbing. And so, back to Lisbon - he headed to the road for easier, swifter walking.

IIIIIIIII

It was just rising two hours post meridian when Lisbon awoke fully alert, dropped the book and lost her page when she jerked back in reflex from a dream fall. She tried to remember the dream - surely it meant something - but it disappeared the moment her eyes opened. Her mouth was dry. She felt heavy, weighted, like gravity was working overtime on her.

She went into the kitchen and got a glass of iced tea. She gulped down a third of it then stood pensively in front of the window sipping the rest at a more moderate pace. She put the glass down on the counter and made a circuit of the first floor windows. What she was looking for, she did not find. So she went upstairs to the balcony. Leaning out over the railing, she searched the shoreline. Softly, not realizing she spoke aloud, she said, "Jane, please come back soon."

"Is this fast enough for you?"

She jumped at the voice behind her, turned and said, "Shit! What the hell, Jane? Decide you can't kill me with your bare hands so you'll just scare me to death?"

He grimaced - half pain, half grin - and held his hands over his abdomen when he said, plaintively, "Lisbon, don't make me laugh. It hurts." He had been sitting with his back to the wall, staring at clouds when she came out to look for him. His whole body was sore. Getting up was unpleasant. He held out his right hand to her. She rolled her eyes and helped haul him up.

"How did you hurt your ribs?"

"It's just muscle strain."

She looked at him, expectantly.

"Alright, I laughed myself sick. Then I kept laughing. Then I fell asleep on the beach. Then I walked home. Somehow I managed to get about two miles further than makes for a comfortable walk back."

"What was so funny? How creaky you've gotten?"

"Nothing. Everything. And I'm not that old."

"Well, apparently you are too old to walk far in crappy old shoes, and too young to have learned how important quality footwear is." She continued to eye him, looking for other signs of wear and tear.

"Yeah. I'm sorry you were worried. I really am ok." Before he startled her, he had realized she was looking for him. It gave him a bit of hope that he had not soiled or broken their connection beyond repair with his madness. He hoped it was over. He needed it to be over. He could not take much more of hurting her.

She had not let go of his hand. She looked down at their joined hands, and rubbed her thumb over his. Jane reached out with his left hand to brush his fingertips over her jaw, as though he was considering kissing her. A feathery touch down her neck and he felt desire flowing through his mind into his body. She saw it, but the emotional upheaval of the day blocked her own. She did not flinch away from him but he felt her frozen response.

"Too fast," she choked out in a hoarse whisper. A moment later she was able to continue in a stronger voice, "You're going too fast. I can't keep up with your changes."

"What did you come here for?" His voice was deceptively soft. She heard the demand behind it.

"The balcony? I came out to look for you. You know that."

"No. Why did you come here with me? Why did you get in the car with me in Sacramento?

"I was afraid to leave you alone. I've never seen you so out of control with despair and rage. If you had me to focus on, you might not turn it back on yourself."

"You put yourself in harm's way for me at work. You make yourself a shield to protect me from the consequences of the schemes I use to do the job. You stood between me and killing the man who murdered my family. You have inserted yourself into my grief. And I let you - I want you to do these things - because I want this connection with you. You take control of situations and you tell yourself it's to protect me, for my own good. You lied this morning when you said you never let sex be about control. The reality is that you never let sex be about anyone else's control. You offer me access to your body when it's in your control."

He tilted his chin down, to meet her eyes. He dropped his voice when he continued, "Sex isn't purely pleasure. It's a connection created in the violence of one body invading another. A woman has to surrender to it. But you confuse control and consent. You tie it up by controlling everything else around it. You've already had enough control over me. You don't get any more. What we are together goes no further until your surrender is unconditional."

She answered, "If you can only be in a relationship if you are the one in charge, we can't be together."

"No. You really don't get it. It is all about control for you. I was fortunate enough to learn how to give up politics in a relationship. How sad that no one in your life has been able to show you that before now. Partners don't control each other at all."

"So I'm supposed to believe that all your talk of taking my control these last couple of days, that was about you teaching me how to be in a relationship? I don't buy it."

A feeling of sick remorse came over him. His expression softened when he said, "No. That wasn't relationship. There were things I didn't know about what I need from you - too much that I didn't know. That was revenge. Can't you see I am surrendering that for you?"

Afraid to let his anger boil over again, he had to get away from her. So he went back inside. He had wanted to punish her, take something valuable from her and use it to hurt her for all the hurt he had gotten from her. But it was over now. Could she not see he had held back? No - she had not shifted gears with him. He needed her to catch up. He needed to hurry her along. Physical desire was getting in the way. He would have to do something about that.