Author's Note: This is the Evil Chapter of Evilness that's been in my head for way too long now. It's mutated quite a bit, but you can still thank (or blame) American Airlines for seating me next to a very large (but very nice) gentleman who had apparently emptied a bottle of cologne on himself before boarding. Also, the third section of this chapter might offend or upset those sensitive to threats of non-consensual sex, so if you are, please skip that section. You'll get the gist of it later anyway.

Chapter 33

They fell into a pattern over the next few months. Grace determined that the bug she'd found had a limited range, so she began checking out all the neighbors within that range, starting with those who'd moved there close to when Jane had first seen the apartment. Since the building was new, that was a large group. She also looked at the building's staff but failed to find a match for their intruder. Because she had to do it while leaving no trace, it was slow going.

Meanwhile, Jane exercised his ingenuity picking up condoms in non-traceable ways, careful to keep them on his person instead of in the apartment in case they had more uninvited guests. Lisbon stopped filling her prescription for the pill, took her prenatal vitamins, ate as nutritiously as she could stand, avoided alcohol, and made a point of going to yoga with Grace more regularly. All while dealing with their normal caseload, because she couldn't bring herself to give up fieldwork. She didn't think she would do that even if she were really trying to get pregnant, not until she had reason to think she actually was.

She also kept going to the weekly poker game, though Jane hated it because she didn't take anyone they trusted with her. She suspected that the team took turns sitting outside, though, because she'd spotted all of them tailing her home at various times. And she was careful to text Jane when she left so he wouldn't worry so much. But she felt there was value in making a point of drinking only club soda in front of well connected people who might knowingly or unknowingly be friends of Red John's, not to mention going about her normal routine. If she did get pregnant, poker nights would eventually be a thing of the past, after all. Surely she was expected to enjoy the things parenthood would replace while she could.

Stress had always made her a little irregular, which in turn added to her stress, giving her several opportunities to buy and take pregnancy tests. She made a point each time of being distracted and moody at work the next day, ably assisted by Jane, who did wistfulness with Oscar-worthy intensity. She hoped he was acting, anyway. She couldn't shake the feeling that part of him wouldn't be unhappy if one day the little stick gave them unexpected news.

They'd have to run then, she knew. Jane would insist it was the only way to keep the baby safe, and he'd be right.

She wondered how long Red John would give them. At her age, surely a year wouldn't be unreasonable? Or at least six months? At what point would they realistically decide to see a specialist? She made a point of looking up which fertility specialists took her insurance on her work computer one day, just for good measure.

She broke the news of her marriage to her brothers, with perfectly predictable results, and ended up promising to present her husband for inspection within the year. She planned to put it off as long as possible, since she was sure her brothers would have no idea what to make of a man like Jane. But then, there were no other men like Jane, who took childish glee in the simplest things and seemed to regard solving a case and serving a perfect soufflé as accomplishments deserving of equal praise.

Jane began a new tradition of inviting the team for dinner on as regular a basis as their caseload permitted. He seemed to enjoy the expanded audience for his cooking, especially when Rigsby brought Ben along. He became an expert at homemade applesauce and cheddar-based mac and cheese, and even went out and got child-friendly plates and utensils. In return, Ben made it clear that Jane was now one of his favorite people, always happy to sit with him and play nonsensical games while the others played poker or just talked.

One night, as everyone was preparing to leave, Ben had a meltdown because he wasn't ready to stop playing. All Jane's assurances that they would play again soon had no effect on the screaming toddler, and Grace's attempts to distract the boy were no more successful.

It was Lisbon who put an end to the scene, taking Ben from Rigsby and saying firmly, "You'll be back soon, Ben. But not if you are going to carry on like this every time. Uncle Patrick won't want to play with you if it makes you sad. See, you're making him sad too."

Jane immediately enhanced the look of mild distress he'd already been wearing. "That's right," he said mournfully.

Ben sniffled, not quite understanding but realizing he wasn't getting the kind of attention he wanted. Lisbon walked to the door, everyone else trailing, and gave Ben a kiss on the forehead before handing him back to Rigsby. "Good night," she smiled at them both. Ben smiled back tentatively and returned her wave as his dad carried him out the door.

"Nice trick," Jane remarked after they were alone.

"I had three brothers," she shrugged. "I learned from a young age that firmness worked better than coaxing."

"I guess boys really are different," he mused. "If I spoke sharply to Charlotte, she'd burst into tears."

Lisbon smiled, imagining how helpless Jane must have been when confronted by his little girl's tears. She bet he'd been wrapped around his daughter's little finger. "I guess it's a good thing that if we have a kid, at least one of us will have experience with whatever gender we end up with."

"Either way, you'd make a fantastic mother," he replied, giving her a quick kiss.

She hummed noncommittally, then said, "My turn to clean up. I'd better get started."

"If you take the dining room, I'll do the kitchen," he said. "If Ben doesn't get better with his spoon, we're going to end up repainting the ceiling."

Lisbon chuckled. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy the look on Rigsby's face when Ben landed that clump on the light fixture."

"I won't if you won't," Jane grinned as he went into the kitchen.

He finished before she did and came into the dining room to find her standing on the table, wiping down the light fixture and the part of the ceiling she could reach. "Careful," he said, coming over to stand next to the table.

"Oh, don't fuss," she replied.

"You're the prospective mother of my children. Fussing is part of the package, I'm afraid."

"I bet you'd drive me straight up the wall if I were pregnant," she said, finishing up and lowering herself to sit on the edge of the table.

Jane wrapped his arms around her, and she spread her legs so he could pull her close. "You have no idea," he smiled.

She kissed him, then tried to push him back so she could hop down. He stayed where he was, though, meeting her questioning look with a thoughtful one. "What?" she asked finally.

"Do you want a baby? Once we're done with him, I mean. Because I assumed you did, based on your behavior when we started sleeping together. But I sense you've changed your mind."

She sighed. "Not really. I mean, that wasn't something I was doing for myself."

"It was something you thought I wanted," he nodded. "And now?"

"I still think it's something you want."

"Not under these circumstances," he said. "But what do you want, Teresa?"

"I wish I knew," she admitted. "Under these circumstances, no, I don't want to get pregnant. If Red John was out of the picture...I just don't know, Jane. I raised my brothers, so I know how much work it is. And..." She bit her lip, then asked softly, "Does it make me a cold-hearted bitch to worry that having a baby would mean I'd have to stop doing the job I love? I mean, I know it would only be while I'm pregnant, but still."

"No. It makes you human," he assured her.

"But part of me does want it. Partly to make you happy, yes, but also because I think about how smart and gorgeous any child of yours would be. And I know I'd love them."

"Smart and gorgeous could also come from your side," Jane smiled. "Not to mention ridiculously adorable. But I don't want you to worry that I'll be unhappy if we don't have children. You are all I need to be happy. Please don't ever doubt that."

She smiled, looping her arms around his neck. "Thank you. And ditto."

mmm

Lisbon glanced out the lobby door of the apartment building once she was inside, waving to Cho as he drove off. "Hi, Brian," she called as she passed the doorman.

"Good evening, Ms. Lisbon. Have a good game?" Brian asked with his usual smile.

"Pretty good," she replied. "Quiet night?"

"Yes. There's the tenant party up on the roof, so most people are up there. You going to join them?"

"Maybe. Right now I just want to get out of these boots," she replied as she got into the elevator. She remembered that Jane had left early to prepare his contribution to the potluck, armed with the short list of suspects Van Pelt had given him for who might have been on the other end of the bug. She supposed she really should join him, but the thought of being in the same room with someone who'd spied on them having sex was repulsive. Maybe she'd just savor some alone time and let Jane handle the socializing/sniffing out suspects. There had to be a limit to how much trouble he could get into with their neighbors, right?

Oh hell, she thought, she'd better go up there and make sure. But she'd stop at home to put her winnings in the safe and change shoes first.

She sighed in relief as she went in the door, entering her code into the alarm keypad so it wouldn't go off. It was the last thing she saw before someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a strong-smelling cloth over her nose and mouth. She lost consciousness just as her hand touched the grip of her gun.

mmm

When Lisbon came to, she was sitting in one of the wingback chairs in the bedroom, hands cuffed behind her and, she discovered, ankles cuffed to the chair legs. While she was relieved to find herself still in the apartment, she was terrified that Jane could come home any moment and walk into a trap. She'd texted him when she left the game, so he knew she should be here. What if he came looking for her?

She could hear someone breathing behind her. Was it just one person? If she screamed to warn Jane as he came in the door, maybe he'd be able to get away.

"Who are you?" She tried to make her voice strong and commanding, but her throat felt funny, so it came out oddly hoarse.

The low chuckle behind her made her hair stand on end. "I would be offended that you don't remember me, if I hadn't taken such care that you couldn't. Hello, Mrs. Jane."

"Red John." This time she sounded more like herself, despite the fact that she was as terrified as she could ever remember being.

"A pleasure to see you again, my dear. I'm gratified that Patrick is taking such good care of you." A hand began to sift through her hair slowly, combing it out to the ends over the back of the chair. She couldn't repress her shudder as he leaned in close, and she smelled his cologne, stronger and spicier than Jane's."You're even more beautiful than the last time we met. They say happiness does that. Are you happy, then?"

What did he want her to say? If he'd studied her, he would probably be able to tell if she was lying. "I'm very happy in my marriage," she answered. "The only thing that would make me happier is if you left us alone, like you promised."

"I promised nothing. I cannot be bound by what my late friend told Patrick. But I am sorry not to be able to oblige you. You afford me far too much pleasure for that." He chuckled again. "I've lost count of the times I've listened to your wedding night. Hearing the two of you enjoy each other is such a sensual feast. You come so very easily for him; it must go to his head. Does he always talk so much? If it were me, I would find better things to do with my lips and tongue."

Lisbon closed her eyes, trying to keep her disgust under control. She felt ill, whether from the knockout drug or his cologne she wasn't sure.

"That's right, sweet Teresa. Keep your eyes closed, and I won't have to make you forget me. Though I confess I enjoy the idea of Patrick coming home to find you smelling like me and having you deny that anyone was here. It would drive him mad with jealousy, don't you think?"

His voice had taken on the tone she recognized from Jane trying to relax someone so he could put them into a light trance. She couldn't relax if she wanted to, though.

Red John had paused, and she realized he wanted an answer. "Jane knows I wouldn't cheat on him. He'd guess the truth."

"Perhaps. And he wouldn't appreciate that the privileges I've granted to him are mine to end when I choose. He got to kiss you before I did, and he's had you all to himself for more than six months now. I look forward to the day it will be my turn with keen anticipation."

She shivered. She hadn't stopped to consider that to plant the trigger for Jane to partially rouse her with a kiss, Red John would have kissed her. She wanted to throw up, but she took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She needed to keep her wits about her. He wasn't planning to rape her, not here and now when Jane could come home any minute.

"Don't worry, my dear. A friend is keeping Patrick safely occupied. We won't be interrupted."

Swallowing hard, she realized why Lorelei had noticed similarities between Red John and Jane. They both were very good at reading people, although she'd never felt menaced when Jane did it, even the first time before she'd really known him. Jane liked it when she pushed back, challenging him; she wondered if the same was true for his nemesis. He certainly couldn't be used to it, judging by how the followers she'd met had spoken of him. "If you've just stopped by to chat, do you mind getting to the point? My boots were killing me hours ago and all I really want is to take them off."

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispered in her ear. Then she heard him moving and felt the cuff on her right ankle drop away. He slid the zipper of her boot down so slowly that she wondered if he had a weird foot fetish. God, he wasn't aroused, was he?

He not only slipped the boot off, but he carefully peeled off her thin sock, running his hands over the arch of her bare foot. She bit down on a whimper and forced herself not to react as his fingers found ticklish spots. Then he refastened the cuff and gave her left foot the same slow, agonizing treatment.

She dared peek just a little through her lashes, trying to see if he was in the right place for her to kick him in the face and knock him out, but he'd carefully stayed to one side, his head bent as he focused his attention on her foot. His hair was dyed dark brown, grey just at the roots, she noticed before she closed her eyes tightly again.

She heard him stand up and move back behind the chair. "You have lovely feet, but you could use a pedicure. You shouldn't neglect the details, you know."

"I'll put that on my to-do list," she said dryly.

"You should. Your predecessor was perfectly groomed." He paused just long enough for her to remember that he'd painted Angela Jane's toenails with her own blood. "I would urge you to get a massage too, but I dislike the thought of anyone else's hands gliding over your beautiful pale skin. Tell me, does Patrick ever trace patterns in your freckles? Making his own private constellations?"

"Sometimes," was all she could think of to say. That was an understatement; it was one of Jane's favorite early morning activities, especially if he thought it might lead to his most favorite morning activity.

"I so look forward to doing the same." He laid a finger against the hollow of her throat and drew a little pattern on the skin of her chest exposed by her buttoned blouse. Goosebumps sprang up in his wake, and he hummed a little as he noticed. "Aroused, Teresa?"

"Anything but," she retorted.

"A pity. Still, that isn't the game we're playing just now. You asked me to come to the point, so I shall." He leaned down so far she felt his cheek press against the side of her head, and his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "You will have a child, Teresa. No more stalling. Do you think I'm not watching Patrick? That I don't know what he's doing? Tell him to impregnate you, or I will do it for him. And I may not give you back afterward."

His hands closed over her shoulders in a firm, almost painful grip, and he used his jaw to press her head to one side so he could kiss her exposed neck, then suck hard, marking her.

"How much time do I have?" she managed to whisper. "What if I can't?"

He stepped back from her. "I'll require proof that you're barren, Teresa. And by proof, I mean spending every night for a year in my bed without conceiving. Then I might consider giving Patrick back his wife. If he still wants you after that." He paused, and she heard a bottle being unstoppered. "And now I must go. I shan't say good-bye, my dear, but only au revoir."

She fought not to breathe in as the cloth covered her nose and mouth, but he held it firmly in place until she had no choice.

mmm

Jane called out, "Honey, I'm home!" as he came through the door, holding his empty casserole dish in one hand and punching in his alarm code with the other. "And no, I don't have any meatballs left. Did you find the ones I put aside for you in the fridge?"

The silence that followed his greeting sent a cold shiver down his spine. He put the dish down quietly on the floor and tiptoed to the couch, bending to retrieve the gun attached beneath it. "Teresa?" He called again. But he heard nothing except the pounding of his own heart.

He tried to swallow down his sick fear, aware he was gripping the gun too tightly, as he went toward their bedroom. Lisbon was slumped awkwardly in one of the wingback chairs, which had been pulled out from the corner, and Jane went straight to her, relieved to find her pulse and breathing steady. He slipped the gun into his pocket so he could use both hands to cradle her face, calling her name gently. She didn't respond, and as he leaned close he smelled something odd. After a moment, he realized the chemical smell on her face was chloroform or something like it.

He stood back for a moment, eyes darting around the room and landing on her boots, lined up neatly beside the chair. Frowning, he put that strange detail aside for a moment, realizing Lisbon's awkward posture was because her hands were cuffed behind her back.

He dug in her pants pocket and fished out her handcuff key, releasing her and setting the cuffs aside before gently lifting her and carrying her the few steps to the bed. He had no idea how long she'd be unconscious, so he wanted her to be comfortable. When he'd settled her, he grabbed the chenille throw at the foot of the bed and tucked it around her carefully, knowing it would keep her warm. He often used it as a lap blanket while reading in the winter, despite Lisbon's teasing about becoming an old man.

He stroked her hair, focusing on its silky texture to calm himself down, then bent to kiss her forehead. His nose wrinkled at the new scent he noticed, and he sniffed her hair more closely. Sandalwood, he thought. Typically a man's scent. And he'd been close enough to Lisbon for long enough that it had lingered on her.

He took a deep breath as the implications sunk in, then began to examine her more closely. Her clothes didn't look disturbed, but the hickey on her neck made him go cold all over. He knew he hadn't done it; he took care never to leave evidence of his attentions where anyone else would see, out of consideration for Lisbon's privacy. Whoever had left that mark had meant it to be seen. Had meant him to see.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Cho picked up on the second ring, but Jane started speaking before he could even get a greeting out. "He's been here and drugged Lisbon."

"On my way," Cho said immediately, then hung up.

Jane dialed Grace next. She took much longer to answer and was out of breath when she did. "Jane? Something wrong?"

"Yes. He was here. Lisbon's drugged."

"Oh my God. Is she okay?" Grace gasped.

"I think so. I need you to come tell me if the camera caught him." He heard Ben shrieking in the background, no doubt woken by the phone.

"Be right there," she said.

Jane paced, not wanting to disturb anything else that might hold clues, then went to look around the rest of the apartment, put the gun back, and pick up the casserole dish. When he got back to the bedroom, Lisbon was frowning and murmuring, trying to wake.

"Teresa," he called, perching on the side of the bed. "You're safe. I'm right here."

Her eyes fluttered open, and after a second she focused on him. "Jane," she said in a croaky whisper.

"I'll get you some water," he offered, when it appeared she wasn't ready to say anything more.

When he got back from the kitchen with a glass of water, she was sitting up, her knees pulled up against her chest and the blanket wrapped tightly around her. She freed one shaking hand to reach for the glass, but he kept his grip on it to steady it as she drank.

"Are you hurt?" He had to ask; the look in her wide eyes was tearing at his heart.

"No," she whispered.

"What did he want?" He thought he knew, but it seemed a safer question than the others racing through his mind.

Her gaze dropped, and she released the glass, tucking her hand inside the blanket again. "To tell me to get pregnant. Or he'd make sure."

Jane bit down on the fury that wanted to erupt out of him. That was the last thing she needed right now. He carefully set the glass on the nightstand, afraid he would give in to the impulse to fling it against the wall.

Lisbon suddenly lifted her head. "Jane, sweep for bugs. I didn't get a chance; he was here when I came in."

Jane nodded, getting to his feet, glad for something to do. They both carried the scanners with them to prevent their being tampered with, so all he had to do was reach into his pants pocket and get started. But only part of his attention was on what he was doing; most of his mind was busy analyzing Lisbon's behavior. Red John might not have physically hurt her, but he'd certainly traumatized her. It would take more than mere threats to do that, he thought grimly.

He wondered if she was ready to run now. And he realized he no longer had any intention of running and hiding, letting Red John continue to control their lives. He was done bargaining.

He was going to kill the bastard.

mmm

Author's Note: Okay, I admit, I creeped myself out writing Red John. Anybody know a good self-help book for authors recovering from writing serial killers? I am SO glad I didn't invent him! And if you're curious, the plot that originally occurred to me on the flight was the one Red John mentions in passing, of having Lisbon smell like his cologne but deny to Jane that anyone had been in the apartment. Then I decided not to have her hypnotized to forget him again. Though that really might have been kinder, I admit!