A/N: Hey guys, waterbaby here. Thanks so much for all the support you've been giving Donnamour and I with this story. I'm sorry I took so long to update. I'd love to sit at home and write fanfic all day but unfortunately I have a day job that needs to be attended to as well.

Everyone gave the interrogation room a wide berth after Jane had left it. It still had an eerie, foreboding feel about it, even though Lorelei had been taken away by Agent Darcy some hours previously. It made a twisted kind of sense to Jane. Red John left a chilling sensation everywhere he went, why should his loyal followers not do the same?

After the unmitigated disaster that had been his attempt at interviewing Lorelei, Jane endeavoured to keep a low profile for the rest of the day. It was not only disheartening to have come out of it without any progress; it was also frankly embarrassing. People would think he was losing his touch, that he really had gone around the twist during his absence.

Not that he really gave a damn about what the general population of the CBI had to say about him. He'd been muttered about, and whispered about, and judged, and criticized for his entire life. His abilities had always set him apart from other people, so he'd been forced to learn early how to let it roll off his back like water off a duck, and with most people, he was able to follow through quite successfully.

Although, the opinions of some people of course, carried more weight than others.

He could handle being sneered about by everyone in the CBI from Bertram to the janitorial staff. Could understand, if not strictly like, the new cynical attitudes from the team. Was even willing to take the flack for Luther Wainwright's untimely demise. But the thought of Lisbon watching that interview, and seeing Lorelai run rings around him was more than he could bear.

She already worried about him too much as it was. Poor, sweet, faithful Lisbon who'd he lied to, tricked, and hurt for far too long, and yet still watched his back as loyally as though he'd never put a foot wrong. And yet again, he'd failed her. Failed to put an end to these fiendish games, and send Red John somewhere he'd never be able to return from. He kept insisting with every new plan, that this was it, that this would be the day they got Red John, but every time, it came to nothing. He wasn't used to being constantly wrong, and he didn't care for it one bit.

And the really frustrating part was that he knew he should have been able to crack Lorelei. He was smarter than Lorelei. In fact, he had little hesitation in saying he was smarter than pretty much anyone (except perhaps Red John himself, if he gave credit where it was due.) Her supposed intelligence and insight all originated from Red John, who'd obviously drummed it into her until she obediently parroted his rhetoric, like all his disciples.

With Red John, she was a formidable enemy, well nigh untouchable. But without him, removed from his sphere of influence, he knew he could get through to her. He knew it. But now she'd been moved to remand and to FBI custody, it could be weeks before he got near her again. The damn FBI had no idea what they were up against, dealing with Red John. Agent Darcy thought she had the measure of things, but like so much else, she was mistaken. Even now, Red John was probably preparing his next move like the rest. He was, after all, never one to leave a loose end. They should have kept her here, where they could protect her, and he'd have gone in every day and questioned her until she gave him his answers.

"Jane?" Lisbon had emerged from her office. So ashamed was he at his failure today that he hadn't even spoken to her since their little exchange after the interview. She'd strode straight for her office and stayed there, and even after six long months in which he'd longed to be able to laze on her couch again, and listen to her tap away on her computer, he didn't follow.

He knew what she'd be thinking. After the latest Lorelei bombshell, she'd be confused, and angry, and so hurt, and instead of going in there and taking responsibility for it like a man, he preferred to sit out here and let her suffer in silence.

"Jane?" she said again, a little louder, as he lay there, feigning sleep as he'd been doing for the last two hours. Nobody had bothered him. The team were all still too angry with him, and everyone else in the office was far too occupied in gossiping about the events of the last few days to pay him any mind. He lay there and listened to them all, occasionally catching words like "Red John" or "Wainwright" and "murdered." More than once, his own name cropped up too, usually in conjunction with Lisbon's, and the things that were said chilled him even more than talk of Red John.

The question that people had asked each other most, was "why?" Why had Lisbon taken him back? Why had she allowed him to run a scheme that had resulted in the death of a colleague? Why had it hit her so hard when he'd left in the first place?

Everybody had a theory. In fact, they all had the same theory about why she'd been acting the way she had. Something that had, apparently, been suspected around the office for quite some time, and now had been proven beyond reproach.

He didn't like this theory. To be frank, it scared the living hell out of him.

"Jane!" she said, once again, even louder this time, and he gave up pretending to sleep. He couldn't ignore her forever.

"Lisbon!" he said, falsely cheerful, and with an equally false yawn. "And what reason would you have for waking me from my refreshing nap?"

"None, considering that you weren't asleep," she said.

He shrugged, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

She glanced at him sternly, apparently annoyed by his faked breeziness. "I'm going home," she said. "I think you should too."

Home. He hated that word. He didn't even have a home. His shabby long-stay motel room was never a home, and the Malibu house may have been one once, but certainly wasn't now. He had no home, he had no family, and now he'd even managed to drive away his pseudo-family.

Well, all except one.

"Maybe later," he said, evasively. "I'm just getting reacquainted with an old friend," he said, patting the couch.

"When was the last time you ate something?" she demanded of him, ignoring his previous comment completely. "I'll bet you haven't eaten for days."

"I've had tea."

"Tea is not sustaining."

"Maybe not for you," he said.

She sighed. "Stop treating me like a mark and answer the question," she said, wearily.

Jane cast his mind back. "I recall a slice of toast," he said after a while. "Three days ago maybe."

"That's what I thought," she said, softening. "Come on, it's been a long day. Let's go find a diner or something, and get you some of those eggs you like so much."

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you want to do that?" Surely she had better things to do with her time than try to soothe his wounded pride.

A pained expression flickered across her face, succeeded by an angry one. "So now I need an ulterior motive to want to spend time with you?" she snapped. "Obviously, I'm just trying to lull you into a false sense of security, while I pass information to Red John. That must be it."

"That's not funny," he said, sternly.

"I think all this time away has made you paranoid," she said. "You think everyone's out to get you. Even me." She paused, and he could tell that this thought caused her more pain than anything else. "I'm on your side, Jane," she said. "And I always have been."

"I know," he admitted, quietly.

He had been alarmed, and a little disturbed, upon his arrival in Vegas to realize just how accustomed he had become to calling out for her when he was in a tight spot. It was like a knee-jerk reaction; get into trouble, call for Lisbon.

He'd had to ease himself out of the habit, as of course; she'd hadn't been there to step in as usual. Over time, he'd gotten used to being more self-sufficient. Except he'd now apparently taken it too far. Perhaps it was time to ease himself back into it again. After all, he didn't see himself going anywhere for the foreseeable future, not with Lorelei, and the knowledge that Lisbon most likely now had a target on her back.

"OK," he said, pulling himself off the couch. "Come on, I know a place."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon toyed unenthusiastically with her burger and fries as Jane chatted to Rhonda, the waitress who'd brought them their meals, as though he hadn't a care in the world. A cheerful-looking woman in her mid-fifties, Rhonda had squealed with delight at the sight of Jane, and embraced him warmly.

"Well look what the cat dragged in," she said, as he greeted her. "Six months away, and still he takes my breath away."

"You flatter me," he said, with a grin.

"And what's this?" said Rhonda, spotting Lisbon, who'd backed away a few steps. "Patrick, you've got yourself a sweetheart!"

"I'm not his-"

"She's not my-"

"A word to the wise, dear," she went on, apparently not noticing their sudden discomfort. "Don't be fooled by his pretty face. He's far more trouble than he's worth."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Lisbon, under her breath, as they'd been lead to their table.

Rhonda had shown them to a booth near the back of the diner. "The usual, hon?" she asked Jane affectionately, who smiled his thanks.

"You know me well Rhonda," he said. "Beauty and brains. Your husband's a lucky man."

"Try telling him that," she said, comfortably. "And you just watch your mouth Patrick Jane," she said, eyes gleaming with humour. "You'll go upsetting your date."

"She's not my date," he said, easily. "We're friends." He beamed at Rhonda some more. "Besides, you know you're the only woman for me."

Rhonda rolled her eyes, but seemed to glow with pleasure at the same time. "Why, if I were ten years younger, and single," she said, with a laugh. "I could just eat you up."

She disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, and soon returned with their food. The two of them continued to flirt shamelessly for several more minutes as Lisbon watched on, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. This evening was supposed to be a chance for them to catch up, to spend some proper time together, just the two of them, without Wainwright's death or Lorelei lurking in the background. She wanted to hear his stories about what he'd been up to in Vegas all this time. She wanted to fill him in about the cases he'd missed (and maybe rub it in his face that they'd managed to solve nearly every one of them without him. She might just leave out the part how it took a whole lot longer, and it wasn't nearly as fun without him.) She wanted them to really talk, to laugh together, to tease each other, to reconnect.

She wanted her best friend back.

But now, here she was again, shunted to the side like old garbage, while he put his time and energy into something else. It was the story of her life, really. Her unhappiness must have been evident on her face, as Rhonda cast her a curious glance and looked suddenly ashamed and apologetic.

"I should get back to work," she said. "I didn't mean to impose," she added to Lisbon quietly, and walked away.

"It's good to see her again," said Jane, scooping some eggs onto his fork. "I've been coming here for years. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find decent eggs in Vegas. Not to mention, the wait staff are far more pleasant here," he smiled.

"I can think of one waitress you didn't mind so much," said Lisbon, crossly. "Sounded to me like she serviced you in all sorts of ways." She impaled a fry on her fork with somewhat unnecessary venom.

"It was just something I had to do, to get what I wanted," he said, quietly. "It didn't mean anything."

She'd been taking a sip of water, but as he said this, she slammed her glass down hard onto the table. "It was your first time since your wife," she said, remembering what Lorelei had said to Jane during their interview. "Of course it meant something. I know it, you know it, and she knows it too."

"I'm not proud of it," he said. "If that's any consolation. If I could take it back, I would." He sighed. "There's a whole bunch of things in my life I could do with a do-over on."

"Yes, well unfortunately Jane, life doesn't come with a delete button," she said. She ought to know, for she'd prayed for one many times. "You can't change it, and you can't take it back. It's done."

He put down the forkful of eggs that had been halfway to his mouth, reached across the table, and took her hand, just as he had done in the desert after their master plan had failed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"Going away, shutting you out, sleeping with Lorelei…"

"Don't apologise for that," she said. "For the other things, yes, but not that. It's your life. You can do whoever you want with it." She forced a weak smile onto her face, hoping to lighten the mood.

He ignored her feeble stab at humour, and instead curled his fingers around hers even tighter.

"It hurt you," he said simply.

"That doesn't matter," she said, unconvincingly trying to brush it aside. "That's my problem."

"I don't want to hurt you anymore."

She felt like she was being X-rayed under his intense gaze. Their hands were clasped together tighter than ever, and the sounds of the busy diner around them seemed to fade into nothingness.

"I have treated you in a way that is totally inexcusable," he went on. "In my entire messed-up life, you are the only thing that I've got going for me. You'd be well within your rights to tell me to get up and leave."

"You know I can't do that," she admitted, quietly. She might still be smarting from the unpleasant revelation, but they both knew deep down he'd already been forgiven. She hated herself for her total inability to stay mad at him for anything.

She used to scoff at women that gave their men chance after chance even when they knew things weren't going to get any better. She used to tell herself that she was above that sort of nonsense, that she would never, ever allow herself to be used and abused like that.

Of course, she'd never counted on Patrick Jane, the man who gave new definition to shades of grey in the world. Jane did terrible things sometimes, but more often than not, for good reasons. He could be cold, calculating, even cruel on occasion but he could also be warm, and funny and generous when he chose it.

She'd also never counted on how he made her feel. He could make her feel like she was two inches tall, and moments later, like she was the only woman in the world. He could make her so angry, and then have her smiling again within minutes.

He was an adventure, ever changing and unpredictable. No two days were ever the same. She lived vicariously through him and his antics, always the first to volunteer to assist him with whatever scheme he was planning. Though her position demanded rules and structure, having Jane around brought craziness and insanity and fun.

There hadn't been much of that going around while he'd been gone. In fact, there hadn't been much of anything except sleepless nights, endless worry, and once, a few tears.

She should tell him to get lost, that he'd burned all his bridges with her, to leave her alone. Nobody would blame her, and many would applaud her (her team included.)

"We've been through too much," she said instead. "I'm not going to abandon you now, Jane."

He smiled ruefully. "It's more than I deserve," he said.

"Oh, stop it with the self-pity," she snapped. "It's getting on my nerves."

Surprisingly, he didn't take this opportunity to change the subject, as he normally would have done.

"For what it's worth," he said. "I don't give a damn about her. As soon as she tells us what we need to know about Red John, she can go and rot in prison forever as far as I'm concerned. It meant nothing."

"Yes it did," she said. "But it's OK. I understand."

This was true. She didn't like it, and the thought of Lorelei running those murderous hands all over him made her stomach churn, but she understood why he'd done it. He made a decision between his own life and trying to catch Red John, and as usual, Red John had won. She should be used to it by now.

"Well, while you're at it, O Wise One," said Jane, with a hint of a smile. "Start understanding this. The whole time I was gone, there was exactly one person in this world that I was thinking of, and it sure as hell wasn't Lorelei."

She wasn't entirely sure what to make of this statement. The implication was clear, but it somehow reminded her of something Lorelei had said.

"I've slept with enough men to know when their attention is wavering, and Patrick's mind was definitely on something, or someone else."

But surely it couldn't mean what she thought it meant. It was impossible. Lorelei must have been mistaken. He couldn't have been thinking of her while in bed with another woman. It was sick, and twisted and perverse and just plain wrong. And more to the point, he didn't feel that way about her. She was his friend. A close friend; a dear friend, but just a friend.

Another memory flickered back.

"Good luck, Teresa. Love you."

She shoved it away. He didn't mean it. He didn't even remember saying it.

The real Jane broke into her train of thought. "I'll get the check," he said, finally letting her hand go, and began trying to attract Rhonda's attention.

Jane napped in the passenger seat on the ride back to the CBI. Even though darkness had long since fallen, and she'd offered to drop him right at his place, he'd insisted she take him back there. He said he wanted to pick up his car so she wouldn't have to come get him in the morning. She knew it was crap. He was going to sleep in the attic again. She'd half-entertained the idea of asking him if he wanted to stay at her place tonight, but she knew he'd refuse.

They pulled up at a stoplight, and she took the chance to survey him under the strong beam of a streetlamp. Exhausted and dishevelled, still with bits of the desert stuck to his suit, and a half-healed black eye, he was a mess. With his scruffy hair, and the faintest bit of stubble on his chin, he looked nothing like the man she used to know, who'd always been impeccably groomed. He looked like a man who'd let himself go.

She felt her heart squeeze itself as he sighed in his sleep. Not so long ago, she'd been under the impression she was never going to see him again. Not so long before that, on one cold, lonely night after sending him yet another text message, she had admitted to herself what many in the office had already guessed.

There was only one possible explanation for why it had hurt her so much when he was gone. Why she'd never stopped hoping he'd come back to her, even when the rest of the team gave up.

And this was her greatest failing of all.

It went against her better judgement, her good sense, and her will. It could lead to nothing but trouble and heartbreak for her. It was nothing short of utter madness.

A car behind her honked its horn. The light had turned green.

Jane awoke just as they pulled up at the CBI. He blinked sleepily for a few moments as she turned off the ignition.

"Thanks for the ride, Lisbon," he said. "And thanks for getting me out for a while. I needed it."

"I know. But I was hoping it would be a little less…"

"Depressing?" he supplied, and she nodded.

"Next time we'll go do something you like to do," he said. "We can go and chase after some bad guys, or shoot guns." He looked pale at the very thought. "Or maybe you could do those things and I could watch you," he amended, and she smiled for the first time in quite some time.

"Or maybe we could just go get a drink somewhere, or see a movie," she suggested. "You know, things normal people like to do with friends."

"Or we could do that."

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to your apartment?" she asked again. "It's on the way to my place anyway."

"I'll be fine here," he said, and unclipped his seatbelt. "Goodnight."

He opened the door, and was halfway out of it when she said in a rush: "If you need anything, call me. Even if you just want to talk, no matter what time it is."

He turned back from the door, leaned over the console, and (somewhat awkwardly, due to the steering wheel) wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him.

She couldn't help thinking of the last time he'd hugged her, a brief embrace before a gunshot. This time, he held her to him for a long time, long enough for her to get over the surprise and relax into his embrace. She felt him rubbing circles on her back, and her heart slamming against her chest.

"You need to stop worrying about me so much," he said, quietly. "It's not good for you."

"Stop making me worry about you so much," she said, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "Just every now and then, take a break from being you."

"You know I can't do that," he said, parroting her words from earlier in the evening.

She let out a strangled chuckle, and gently slapped him upside the head. "You're a jerk."

"But you love me anyway," he said.

She couldn't answer that, because it was true.

For the first time, she started to feel some of the weariness and worry ebb away. From now on, she was going to ditch chamomile tea for stress relief, and go get a hug from Jane instead. She could have stayed like this with him all night.

After several more moments of bliss, she felt him start to loosen his hold. Reluctantly, she allowed the separation.

"Goodnight, Jane," she said.

"Goodnight," he said again. But he made no further move to exit the car. Instead he stayed right where he was, eyes raking over her face. She could practically see that brilliant mind of his ticking over. For the billionth time, she wished she could climb in there and see what he was thinking. Did he know how she felt about him? Did he suspect?

"Aren't you getting out?" she asked.

"In a minute. I'm having an epiphany."

"An epiphany?"

"Yes."

She waited for further enlightenment on this intriguing subject, but it never came. Instead he leaned over again and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then another one a little lower, a breath away from the side of her lips. If she just turned her head a fraction, she'd be kissing him for real. He must have felt the shiver of excitement that ran through her at this thrilling prospect, especially since he'd lingered a fair bit longer than necessary after the second one.

"Interesting," he said, still so close, his breath was tickling her face. "Very interesting."

"What was your epiphany?" she breathed.

"You really, really need to stop worrying," he said and shot her the full-force, Patrick Jane patented smile. God how she'd missed it. She'd never realized how much it had been lighting up her days until it was gone.

"I'm going to go," he whispered. "I'll see you in the morning."

He slammed the door shut behind him, and she watched him through the door into the building. The second he was out of sight, she buried her face in her hands.

It didn't mean anything. Friends hugged each other, after all. They kissed each other on the cheek. Maybe they didn't necessarily kiss each other twice, and linger a really long time after the second one, but Jane never did anything like normal people.

She knew Jane better than anyone. She had been in love with him for a long time. She acknowledged that now. But that didn't mean he reciprocated.

Only when he reached the attic, did Jane allow himself to think about what had just happened. It was probably the most intimate thing he had done with a woman in years.

The sex with Lorelei had been just that, sex. Nothing to write home about; nothing to get excited about. But this, pushing the boundaries with Lisbon farther than they'd ever been pushed, seeing the way she reacted to his close proximity, almost kissing her, but not quite, that had turned him on far more than Lorelei could have ever done.

He made a mental note to bring that up in their next interview.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Donna's up next!