Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, am just spending time with them for the purposes of this story.

AN: Again sincere thanks to those who review and follow this story, hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am enjoying the writing. This is a short chapter to get us closer to where we need to be. Part of Patricks plan here is borrowed directly from Season 5.

Falling Slowly Chapter 8

Today has been challenging in a way I have not experienced for so many years. I have been completely unable to work because I have been incapable of thinking today. Well, that's not quite true, I've been able to think but the focus of my attention has not been Red John or how I can come closer to finding him… Instead my focus has been on Agent Teresa Lisbon and how I can stay as close by her as is proper.

We slept together last night, and one of the miracles of that statement is that I actually slept.

I asked her if I could sleep with her, sleep beside her; what an appalling excuse for a man I have become. The worst of it is Lisbon accepts me as I am, that must be true or I wouldn't have spent the night sleeping beside her. It also must be true as she told me she loves me.

That's the important fact my mind has been turning to all day.

Well, that and the immeasurable pleasure to be found in sharing a warm bed with Teresa Lisbon.

So instead of coming any closer to the truth of the identity of Red John; instead of working today I have found myself thinking about the warmth of her skin against mine as I woke this morning. I have spent countless minutes wondering about returning to her bed; wishing that the luxury of her company would be something I could enjoy regularly enough that it would become commonplace.

Not that it would ever be likely that I would take Lisbon for granted; we've waited far too long for that ever to happen.

Anyway, I've been in my attic today instead of with Lisbon and for the first time I can appreciate how much of an idiot that makes me. I want to share my time with her, we crossed a line yesterday and I know I don't have the necessary strength to pull back now. I meant what I said to her, however, I won't tell her I love her until this is over. I won't tell her until Red John is in the ground.

That doesn't mean I won't think about her, and that doesn't mean I don't wish things could be different; I do know how she deserves a better life than the one she currently endures because of me.

It's a mark of my selfishness that I want to go back to her home; I don't want to be here today doing this, instead I would be content to sit with Lisbon in her home and hold her hand.

I'll keep that thought to myself I think, Lisbon would certainly laugh at me for my idiocy and probably even smack me for it.

But it's in this way, thinking about the perfect happiness of holding Lisbon's hand, that I have passed most of my time today. I left her apartment early, not trusting myself to stay with her any longer for fear of what I might talk myself into allowing to happen between us. It's been a struggle to not get in my car and return to her again to intrude on her Saturday.

I know that it's even more important now that we find Red John, for the first time in ten years I actually have something to lose. Well, I have someone to lose – and I spend a lot of time worrying just how close Red John is to realising that.

So I sit here going round in circles; I know I should concentrate and carry on with my work and yet I find myself thinking instead of how good it felt to hold Lisbon in my arms last night. I didn't enjoy her tears, but the words we shared and simply holding her close felt like a healing had begun. I want more of that, and more of her.

It's 4pm, is that too early to give up working on a Saturday? I mean normally I would be content to sit here long into the night and work through my thoughts – but even I know that won't happen tonight. I'll sit here, or probably lie here and wonder what Lisbon is doing. I know it's pathetic but I have had a glimpse of what my life could be, and I want that very powerfully to be a reality.

I made promises that I would be smart and resist what I want until this pursuit is over, and a few short hours later I find myself already planning how I can go back on those promises so that I might find warmth and comfort.

I want to go back to Lisbons. I know it's not sensible, I know I put us both at further risk – but I want to rest beside her tonight. I want to spend Sunday with her. To spend a day with her with no agenda other than being in the same place, I believe that might make me happy. And I also dare to suppose it would make Lisbon happy too.

I don't want to be in this attic tonight, that doesn't mean I am surrendering or have lost my furious desire to capture the man that ended my life and the lives of my beautiful family; sincerely that could never be a possibility. But I have a similarly irresistible compulsion to spend time with the person left in the world who seems to love me.

I accept all the arguments I made against this before, and I maintain the truth of them – but… I want to see her. I miss her, and she might not ever let me live that down. Or maybe not, maybe she will simply open her arms and let me hold her. Any combination of either of those will be more reward than I could ever deserve.

It was fascinating to watch Lisbon last night when we went to dinner with her friend Jill; and to hear stories of her life away from the office and me. I want her life away from the office to include me, which means I need to have a life away from this attic.

I know I shouldn't want that tonight, I know I shouldn't be putting her in anymore danger than I already do. But I want to spend time with her. I meant what I said to her this morning, I will always choose her over Red John – and today I want my brain to be consumed with thoughts of Lisbon and not him.

My decision is already made I think; I am going to return to her apartment and ask her to let me stay there again. She offered that shelter to me this morning before I left; I had assumed I would have the strength to resist her comfort a little longer. I am not completely sorry that I find myself utterly unable to resist her any longer; and I can kid myself that by being close to her I can keep her safer from Red John than if I stay on the other side of the city.

I'm uneasy with what bargains I have to make with myself to ensure her continued safety, and the safety of the whole team to be honest. I have failed so profoundly until now trying to protect people I care about; I find that my isolation and desperation has only worked so far. We have come closest to finding Red John since I started to let people in, since I let myself acknowledge that I do have a partner in this life.

I think the most workable option is that I spend time with Lisbon, assuming she will let me, and then I retreat. I will come back to this attic and won't leave until I am closer to having figured out the identity of Red John. I know we are so close now, I think if I lock myself away for a week or so then I will be able to concentrate my efforts into reducing the list of possible suspects to a resolution. I'll tell myself that so I won't despair over the futility of locking myself in a room to try and earn my freedom from this pursuit; or the futility of choosing to separate myself from Lisbon.

I get out my phone and text Lisbon that I am on my over to her home.

Texting Lisbon to tell her I am on my way to our home is another fantasy of mine that I hope to make true in the time to come. Not anytime soon clearly, but it's an image I can keep close to me through the inevitable dark days to come.

I have spent so long in this attic room that my being here has become habit; clearly it's easier to conceal myself from the world than exist in it. I am hoping that Lisbon, that Teresa, will allow me to hideout at her apartment. And I don't care about the place evidently; I want to hideout with Lisbon. I seem to have persuaded myself that I can't possibly put her in any more danger than I already have; and that a few days with her would be enough for me to live on until we finally catch him and we can start to contemplate moving on.

I know I shouldn't be getting in my car and heading towards Teresa again, but I am being selfish as I so often am – I have relived last night and the moments we shared this morning all day in my mind, I need more of that easy warmth . I slept beside Lisbon, and she held me through the night; I would appreciate the opportunity to return that affection. To close my eyes later and have Teresa curled beside me would be as perfect a way to end the day that I could ever hope for.

The early evening weekend traffic is light, and I think about stopping on the way for food or even flowers for her. I know I should, but that would make my journey time longer. We can order take-out and I promise myself that when we have come through this I will buy her flowers so often she will tire of them.

I park my car in the closest spot I can to Lisbon's apartment, realising suddenly that she has not responded to the text message I sent earlier. That is very unlike Lisbon, if she didn't want me to come over I don't think she would be shy about telling me. Maybe I've gotten this a little wrong; she could of course have plans and be out for the evening.

If that were true would I sit in my car and wait for her to come home, because I think that might be a level I am happy to stoop to. Hopefully she is home, and there's a perfectly reasonable explanation why Lisbon would ignore her message.

But actually she never ignores messages; I don't think she has it in her. She always answers calls, that's her job and I flatter myself by thinking she wouldn't ignore contact from me today.

I move as quickly as I can to her door, anxious now for her soothing presence to convince me that my worrying is simply my over active imagination.

Her door is open.

The front door to her apartment is ajar.

Lisbon isn't responding to messages on her phone and her door is open.

I push gently against the door and enter her apartment, already terrified of what I might find despite my hoping for a reasonable explanation to resolve all this.

There is a horrific explanation.

He has been here.

He has left his mark on the wall.

There are flowers on the floor, beside them there is blood. So much blood.

She is not here, I know that.

He has her.

I was already too late. I am always too late.

I swallow down the urgent need to vomit and dial the second most used number on my cell phone.

"Jane. What?"

"I'm at Lisbon's, she's not here. Red John has her. She's not here. He has her."

"We're coming. Stay there Jane. Don't leave. We'll be right there."

She's not here. He has her.

He has her.