Author's Note: I continue to be amazed and humbled by the support for this fic. I only hope I can live up to it! Now, as much as we all love sweet and thoughtful Jane, nobody can keep that up forever, right? So here we go...

Chapter 15

Lisbon kept her promise not to talk to Jane all through lunch, using the time to research real estate agents in the Malibu area on her smartphone. It would save time, since she knew that left to his own devices, Jane would come up with some weird method of choosing one that would involve driving randomly around or accosting people in public places.

She hoped his silence was because he was working through things, rather than unproductively brooding. It was one thing to give up his quest in the abstract, but now that he was confronting the reality of it, it wasn't surprising he was sulking a little. Or a lot. She hoped it wasn't going to be too much for him. Giving up his attic and notes was hard enough; maybe they should leave the house for another day.

Since they weren't talking, she didn't ask him whether he wanted pie, just ordered for both of them. He was lost in his thoughts and seemed surprised when the server set the slice of apple pie down in front of him. He smiled up at the server, then over at Lisbon. "Thanks."

"You looked like you were in a pie mood," she replied lightly, trying not to show how pleased she was to have his attention. As he dug in, she decided she should seize the opportunity. "We don't have to do this today. We could just go to the beach or something."

"I want to get it over with," he mumbled after swallowing his bite. Then he took a sip of his tea, grimaced a little, and continued in a more normal tone, "Besides, why waste all your diligent real estate research?"

She was surprised he'd noticed. Apparently he was only pretending to be oblivious to the world around him. "I just want to help. But only if you really want to do this."

"It's not a question of wanting to do it," he said. "But since I have to, I'm happy to have your help. Perhaps you'd do me a favor and do most of the talking. I might not be able to resist antagonizing the paragon of salesmanship you have picked out, and that would be counterproductive. You possess the ability to talk patiently to fatuous people, at least for brief periods. And since neither of us knows or cares about feng shui or staging, you can just smile and nod."

There was an edge to his voice she didn't quite like, but she pretended not to notice. She didn't really want to participate in this, but if it would make it easier for him, she was willing. Still, there was a glaring problem with his plan. "Sure. But you might have to show him the upstairs."

Jane nodded. "Of course. No need to give you unnecessary headaches." He took another bite of pie.

She did the same, and they ate in silence until the check came. Lisbon paid it without comment, leaving her pie unfinished while she debated the wisdom of what she wanted to do. Finally she decided to just go for it. "I know you usually don't like to be thanked," she began.

"Then don't," he interrupted.

She stared down at her pie, inwardly flinching at his tone. Maybe talking really was a bad idea. She would deal with the agent and the house as much as she was able, since that was what he'd asked her to do, and she wouldn't talk about the other ramifications of it until he was ready. No matter how miserable it made her, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling, she knew.

She felt the hated anxiety creeping over her again, but she didn't dare try to touch him. She could only pray that giving up Red John didn't kill his feelings for her. She'd never realized before that they might be tangled up in his head, one inextricable from the other.

mmm

Jane was lost in his own thoughts as they walked out to Lisbon's car, so it took him a moment to register that she had followed him to the passenger side and was holding out the keys. At first he thought she was shaking them at him, but then he realized her hand was shaking because the rest of her was. "What's wrong?" he asked, automatically reaching for her.

She buried her face in his shoulder and didn't respond. He quickly reviewed lunch in his head, looking for clues. He'd been a little harsh with her when she tried to thank him, but Lisbon was thick-skinned. No, he'd somehow managed to activate the anxiety that came from her need to keep him away from Red John. Was she afraid his behavior was reluctance? Dammit, it felt so unfair that he not only had to do these difficult and painful things, but he also had to put up a mask around the one person he was used to confiding in. He wondered if Red John had known how exquisitely painful his trap would be for them both, or if this was just an unexpected benefit. But Lisbon was truly all he had left now, and he was damned if he was going to lose her, no matter how rough things got.

"Lisbon," he said gently, "I know I'm acting like a bear somebody poked with a stick, but it isn't aimed at you. Don't take it personally."

"How can I not take it personally?" she said in disbelief, pulling back to look at him. "There's no way you would be doing any of this if you weren't trying to help me. If you need to snap at me, that's okay. If you need to sit and not talk, that's okay too." She drew in a watery breath. "If you need to rant at me for ruining your life, then do it, because we both know I have."

"You've done no such thing," he said firmly. "Lisbon, I could never have made it through all these years without you. And I know it wasn't your choice to change things."

"But some of it was my choice," she protested. "You said it was already in my subconscious."

"Lots of things float around our subconscious minds, Lisbon. We can't be held responsible for them all. And I know you would never have tried to make me give up my goal, no matter how much you wished I would." He stroked her cheek, watching some of the tension leave her. He realized he hadn't touched her all through lunch, which meant she'd already been anxious when he snapped at her. No wonder she was shaky. Would it have been so hard to at least play footsie with her, he scolded himself.

"You have to bear with me, Lisbon. I'm not used to being the responsible one."

"As long as you bear with me," she said, closing her eyes and leaning into his caress. "I'm not used to being the out-of-control one."

He chuckled, swallowing a remark that being out of control could be a good thing in the right place. But considering that he was the reason they hadn't demonstrated that in bed this morning, he thought he'd best not remind her. He reached down and took the keys from her hand. "Let's go find this realtor you've picked out. You can boss us both around for a while." And maybe he could snatch a few minutes to himself, he hoped.

mmm

Once Lisbon regained her composure, she called and arranged for them to meet Barrett Denton at Jane's house. She also advised him that he'd want to research the history of the house beforehand, as the seller was sensitive about it. Jane was simultaneously grateful and annoyed—he didn't feel like explaining why the master bedroom needed painted or listening to Lisbon do it, but he hated the reminder that his greatest mistake, with all the gory details, was out there for anybody to find. Even if he had accomplished his revenge, that wouldn't have changed. Nothing would ever erase that.

So he was already in a surly mood when they arrived, and the fact that Denton was unexpectedly attractive—and obviously noticed that Lisbon was too—didn't cheer him any. He let the two of them chat, looking around one last time at this house that had once seemed like such a bright beginning and now was the scene of his utter defeat.

Then he saw Denton reach out and touch Lisbon. He was only urging her to turn and talk about the view, but Jane noticed that his gaze strayed to her left hand as he did so. He didn't bother suppressing the jealousy that boiled up inside him; his days of watching men hit on her were done.

"Yes," he said brightly, stepping up behind Lisbon and wrapping his arms around her, "the view was the main reason my first wife and I bought the place. I'm hoping it will be irresistible to someone else as well. How are you feeling, darling? Not queasy again, are you?" He rubbed gentle circles low on her abdomen and looked up at Denton smugly. "She's so self-conscious about not being able to wear her rings, but her fingers are already swelling. This hasn't been an easy pregnancy so far, which is part of the reason we want to get this place sold quickly. We want to get settled in our new home while Teresa still has enough energy to nest."

Denton summoned up a smile. "Congratulations! Well, I think we can certainly sell this house in a reasonable timeframe. We'll need to put some money into freshening it up and staging, of course."

"Anything you need to do," Jane said pleasantly. "Would you like to look around upstairs? Teresa and I don't like to go up there, for obvious reasons."

"I'll just be a minute," he said, turning to climb the stairs.

Jane glanced down at Lisbon, who'd made no effort to pull away. Her hands closed over his, and he had the disconcerting feeling that she was having a little daydream. But then she said quietly, "Did I pass?"

"Hm?" He decided to play dumb.

"You did that to see how I would react," she accused, but there was no anger in her voice.

"I did that to let him know he'd better not put his hands on you again," Jane replied. "But since you haven't elbowed me in the ribs or stomped on my toes yet, I gather you have no objections."

"That's far from the worst story you've told people about me." She slid her fingers into his, one of them rubbing briefly over his wedding ring. "Did you…do you want…?"

He swallowed down a flash of anger, holding himself tightly in check. "Can we please not talk about this here?"

"Of course," she said immediately, turning in his arms to give him a hug. Then she started to pull back, aware that he wasn't in the mood to be comforted.

Yielding to impulse, he pulled her back against him, bringing his mouth down on hers in a devouring kiss that had no tenderness in it but was merely an attempt to lose himself in her. She responded immediately, and it was only Denton's return that brought them both back to their senses.

"Well, I think I've seen everything I need to. Would you like to come back to my office and get the boring paperwork started?" he asked briskly.

"We'll meet you there in an hour," Jane said. "We have some things to wrap up here first."

"Right." Denton tried and failed to keep the knowing smirk off his face. "You'll want all the records pertaining to the house, mortgage statements and the like."

"There's no mortgage," Jane said. "But I'll bring what I have."

"Right. See you in an hour," Denton said, heading out the door.

mmm

"You own this outright?" Lisbon asked when the silence after Denton's departure had stretched a little too long for her comfort.

"Yes. Paid it off two years after we bought it. Why are you surprised? Did you think I could afford a mortgage on a place like this on what you pay me?" He led the way into what had been his office, took the single remaining painting off the wall, and opened the safe behind it. He began pulling papers and files out, barely looking at them but separating them into piles on the dusty desk.

"Can I help?" she asked, wanting something to do besides look at the set of his shoulders and the restrained violence in the way he threw things onto the desk.

He pointed to the pile nearest her, the largest. "That should all be destroyed."

She dared to look at the thick manila envelope on top. "Are you sure? This says 'Wills.'"

"I'm sure. The petty tyrants in HR made me do a new one a couple of years ago, when they started requiring all employees to do medical directives and such, even we lowly consultants." The next file hit the stack with a loud slap. "Just think, Lisbon. All this might have been yours." His hand swept the room in a grandiose gesture before going back to sorting.

She probably shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. "Really? If I'd known that, I wouldn't have worked so hard at keeping you alive."

A bitter chuckle was his only response, until he found something that made him pause. He froze, then slipped it into his pocket and cleared his throat. "No good deed goes unpunished, eh, Lisbon? Though I'm not sure it would have been worth it. I bet my affairs would be a mess to sort out. I just didn't trust anyone else to do the appropriate things."

"Like what?" She knew he would not have cared about funeral arrangements, and anyone would have known to bury him beside his family.

"I don't know. A rehab program for revenge seekers? I was leaving that up to you for good reason."

The strain in his voice worried her. He was trying for glib, she could tell, but he was nowhere near it. "I guess I could have set up a secret slush fund for us to buy fancy toys to hunt serial killers in your memory."

He flashed her a grin over his shoulder. "See? I knew you'd know what to do with it. I'll use whatever's left over for that. Property is cheaper in Sacramento, I imagine."

"You're serious about that?"

"I think it's what I'm expected to do. I already did the rolling in the gutter approach to giving up. Now I guess I'll try fading into suburban obscurity."

It sounded like a dismal fate indeed, put that way. She swallowed hard. "You think it's realistic to stay with the CBI now that you aren't hunting him anymore?"

He let out a long sigh and stared at the empty safe. "For now, yes. If only because if I left, you'd have to come with me."

"True. Do you have a shredder?"

"No, but I have a fireplace and matches." He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a matchbook. "You do that while I get the rest of my clothes."

mmm

They were at Denton's office for two hours, about an hour and forty-five minutes longer than Jane could gracefully bear. Lisbon found herself doing all the talking and reading of legal documents, nudging Jane when he needed to sign or initial something. She thought about suggesting he just give her power of attorney and go find a tearoom, but she was afraid he would actually do it. Or, worse, wander into the sunset and never come back.

When they finally escaped, she just wanted to put Malibu behind them as quickly as possible, but Jane directed her to a little restaurant by the beach. They had a mostly silent but delicious seafood dinner, after which he said, "If I stay in sight, will you be all right while I go for a walk?"

God, she hated being treated like she was fragile, even if she might be right now. A little. "Of course. I'll have some coffee and try to revive all those brain cells that went into comas reading all that legalese."

"Great." He was out of his chair and off the patio like someone was chasing him. She looked after him sadly, hoping he could find some solace in the waves crashing on the dark beach, then ordered coffee. Halfway through her cup, she realized he'd left his jacket hanging on his chair. Glancing at the beach, she could just make out his silhouette near a rocky outcropping, too far away to see clearly.

She slid her chair partway around the table and leaned over, sliding her fingers into his jacket pocket. It was just one sheet of paper, and she unfolded it with a sinking heart. It was his daughter's birth certificate.

She put it back, taking a deep, steadying breath. No wonder he needed some time; his ghosts must be hovering very close tonight. She would try to give him all the time he needed.

mmm

Two cups of decaf coffee later, Lisbon had exhausted all the distracting possibilities in her email and had resorted to playing solitaire, keeping one eye on her phone's battery. She was one of the few patrons left, and she suspected she'd be the only one before long, since the couple two tables over were shortly going to have to take their activities somewhere private or risk arrest. At least the latter option would give her something to do, she reflected.

She could still see the Jane-shaped shadow at the edge of the surf, dimly visible in the moonlight. He'd slowly moved back toward the restaurant but seemed in no hurry. Maybe he was seeing how long she could last, she thought, checking the time. She'd been alone almost two hours now. She was getting better. Or maybe just being able to see him was enough.

How long was he going to last, she wondered. He was already unhappy about what he'd done today, and whatever next steps occurred to him were probably not going to be easy either. And what if Red John decided to test his resolve by killing again? She did not want to watch Jane tear himself to pieces trying to decide what he could bear. Damn Red John anyway. His usual method of killing seemed almost merciful compared to this slow torture.

Maybe it would be better if he just killed me, she thought, and then angrily pushed the thought out of her mind. That wasn't something she would normally think. Jane was right again, dammit: Red John had planted it in her head, to ensure that Jane would regret any backsliding.

She rubbed at her forehead to ease the ache the name provoked. She needed to stop thinking about him. She thought she should tell Jane what she'd just experienced, but today was probably not a good time. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe, she thought, she could make sure it was.

The next time the server stopped to ask if she wanted more coffee, Lisbon asked, "Any good places to stay around here? Bed and breakfast, maybe?"

"Sure, there's one right up the beach." He pointed in the direction Jane had originally walked.

"Know anything about the cooking? Specifically the eggs."

He grinned. "Never heard any complaints. We get a lot of their guests for lunch and dinner. Want the number?"

"Thanks." She smiled at him, relieved that the first part of her plan was going so well.

mmm

Jane came back half an hour later, his expression neutral. Lisbon said, "I got the check already. And I found us a place to stay, right up the beach. The cook promised there'd be eggs for breakfast."

He shrugged into his jacket and said, "Efficient as always. Shall we go?"

She bit her tongue to keep herself from asking if he was all right. He wasn't, but he wouldn't admit it. He'd probably rather hole up in his damned attic than sleep in a comfy bed with the promise of a good breakfast. But she couldn't arrange that, so she'd make do with what she had.

When they arrived, Lisbon was delighted to see that their room featured a tiny balcony overlooking the ocean. Jane made a beeline for the French doors, barely glancing at the rest of the room after dropping his bag onto a chair. She decided to leave him to it and give him at least the illusion of privacy.

The bathroom featured an old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub, a bath pillow, and a bottle of rose-scented bubble bath that made her pause and thank God for unexpected mercies. After the day she'd had, she deserved a good soak. After starting the water, she went to dig her robe out of her bag and ran across the lace teddy, which she didn't remember packing. This might seem like a perfect setting for romance, but she was pretty sure Jane wasn't going to be in the mood no matter what she did. It would take him some time to crawl back out of his own head. So she grabbed her regular sleeping jersey in addition to the robe and headed back to the bathroom.

She had lost track of time, though she was beginning to feel the anxiety prowling around the edges of her awareness even in the bliss of the hot, sweet-smelling water when Jane knocked on the door and stuck his head in. She opened her eyes just in time to see a grin spread over his face as he took in the sight of her head sticking out of a small mountain of bubbles.

"I see you've settled in for the night," he said.

She could tell he was holding back several teasing comments, obviously afraid she might take him up on an offer to wash her back or monitor her to make sure she didn't fall asleep and drown. "This is a cut above the crappy places we usually stay," she observed. "I was beginning to think you were going to spend the night out on the balcony."

"Too small," he said. "I'd like to leave one of the doors open, though, unless you think it's an unacceptable security risk."

There was definite mockery in his tone, and she closed her eyes again and said, "I've got my gun. I think we can take the chance."

He was silent for a moment, until she opened her eyes again and looked closely at him. He'd opened the door fully and was hovering on the threshold, which she regarded as a hopeful sign until she noticed the expression in his eyes. "You want to go back to the house, don't you?" she sighed.

He grimaced. "I know it's ridiculous, but yes."

Seriously, she thought, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. Only Patrick Jane would want to go ramble around an empty house when he had a naked, interested woman right here in front of him. Well, she didn't love him for his normalcy, that was for sure. "My keys are in my jacket pocket."

"Will you be all right?"

"I plan to stay in here until I'm too pruney to stand it anymore," she replied. "Just don't be all night."

"I'll keep my cell on if you need me," he said. He started to go, then stuck his head back in. "Thanks."

What was her alternative? she wondered. Throw a tantrum? Guilt him into staying? God, he'd be unbearable in the morning if she lost her mind enough to do either of those things. "Don't drive my car like a maniac," she called after him.

His dismissive "Don't worry" floated back to her just before the door closed behind him.

He hadn't been gone five minutes before she started obsessing about whether he was coming back. Had giving him her keys been too much? She'd thought she was doing better. Maybe that was because she thought he was really giving up the house, and now she wasn't so sure? He could change his mind at any time. All it would take was a phone call and maybe some paperwork.

She got out of the tub and tried to occupy her mind with her usual bedtime tasks, carefully counting out the seconds while brushing her teeth and then counting strokes while she brushed her hair. She then proceeded to straighten everything in both the bathroom and bedroom that could possibly be straightened, including the things in her suitcase.

Damn it, she was not going to call him. He needed to do whatever it was he was doing, and he'd done nothing but think of her for the past 36 hours or so. She stayed by herself in hotel rooms all the time; she shouldn't need company.

She closed the French doors, reasoning that he could always open them again if and when he came back. Then she pulled out her gun and set it on the nightstand, thinking she'd feel better with it in reach. He was sure to lose track of time; he always did when he was brooding. But if she could just get to sleep, she'd be fine. God, what she wouldn't give for a bottle of tequila about now. Although in her current state, that might just be a recipe for the most humiliating drunk dial in the history of phones.

Then it occurred to her: Jane kept a supply of sleeping pills for when he was desperate. Maybe she could take one of those. She was sure he wouldn't mind.

mmm

It was a beautiful dawn, as if the same perverse weather spirits that sent sunshine and singing birds to funerals or disaster zones had visited him. Jane had been in a kind of half-doze, but as he woke fully he became aware that he was far too old to pass a night sitting on a hard floor. He should at least have gone upstairs to his mattress.

His brain woke up just as he was getting to his feet. Dawn? He'd spent the entire night here? Damn it, Lisbon would be half out of her mind worrying about him. How had he slept through his phone ringing? He never did that.

But his phone revealed no missed calls. At first he was relieved, thinking she had managed to fall asleep. Then his mind started conjuring up other, more sinister theories. Had she concluded that he wasn't coming back, that he'd changed his mind? Had that triggered the suicidal impulse he feared Red John had planted?

He dialed her phone on his way out the door, but it rang until it went to voicemail. He tried twice more before giving up. It had taken him nearly half an hour to drive here last night, but he made it back to the bed and breakfast in under fifteen, his heart hammering the whole time.

Later it would occur to him that this was the second time in 48 hours he was opening a door not knowing if she were alive on the other side, but right now he was focused on getting the old-fashioned key in the door, which was hard to do when his hands were shaking with adrenaline. He'd been relieved by the lack of police cars or any sign of disturbance when he'd arrived; she hadn't shot herself, at least.

When he saw her lying peacefully in bed, he closed his eyes in relief. He could hear her breathing, slowly and evenly, so his worst fears vanished. But the pill bottle on the nightstand made him frown, and he picked it up to read the label. It was his prescription, meant for his worst periods of insomnia—far too strong for Lisbon, whose body mass was significantly less. If she'd taken more than two she might be in real danger, no matter how well she looked.

He brushed the hair back from her face, noting the tear tracks there. He hoped she hadn't been having nightmares—he knew all too well that the pills didn't stop those, just made it impossible to wake up from them. "Lisbon," he called, then repeated himself more loudly. She didn't respond, so he tried patting her cheek lightly and pinching her earlobe. She rolled her head away with an annoyed little grumble but showed no sign of waking.

He opened the bottle, but he had no way of knowing how many she'd taken. He didn't make a habit of counting his pills. Still, the fact that there were several left argued that she hadn't overdosed; she would have taken them all if that had been her intent. And her pulse was strong and steady. It was probably just a question of waiting for it to wear off enough for her to wake up. He tried to picture her reaction if he had her rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped unnecessarily, but it didn't bear thinking about.

Plus, it occurred to him, any hint of suicidal tendencies in her medical record would have unpleasant repercussions at work. Now that he thought about it, they probably shouldn't tell anyone what they suspected Red John had done to her. Lisbon hated therapy for good reason, and there was no therapist out there qualified to deal with any landmines Red John had laid in her psyche. He was sure she'd agree with him, and he doubted they'd get any resistance from the rest of the team, especially since they only knew what he and Lisbon chose to tell them.

He just needed to be absolutely sure she was all right, and he wouldn't be until he got her to talk to him. He put his mouth next to her ear and said loudly, "Lisbon, I'm in trouble. I need your help. Wake up!"

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a whimper, and then slurred, "Dammit, Jane. Jussaminute."

He smiled in relief, sliding onto the bed and wrapping her in his arms as she fell back to sleep.