AN: Thanks again for your support for this story and the kind words you all have left me regarding my work. I never cease to be amazed by the positive nature of this fandom, and I'm proud and honored to write for you. I hope this chapter provides some answers but raises even more questions!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

Chapter 4: Mosaic Broken Hearts

"Thirty years ago, a pathologist signed off on an autopsy he had supposedly completed on the remains of Robert Lisbon."

Jane's eyes lit up with understanding. "But if there aren't any cuts from the saw…" he began.

"Then there was no autopsy," finished Lisbon.

She could tell Jane wanted to discuss this revelation with her further, but with Clark still present and continuing to conduct his anthropological examination, it was neither the time nor place for such a conversation. Instead, Lisbon felt Jane's thumb brush faintly against the back of her hand before he stepped away from her and moved towards the examination table.

Lisbon took a deep breath and did the same.

The rest of the examination was methodical and seemingly devoid of anything out of the ordinary. Clark slowly assembled the bones in anatomical position—the entire body laid out with no bones crossing, thumbs positioned laterally so that the bones of the hands were facing palm side up—and eventually began to examine each bone. If there were anomalies, he documented them with photographs and notes. He also X-rayed the skull to get a better view of any evidence which may have been hidden inside the cranium.

After nearly two hours, Lisbon's back was becoming sore from standing in the same position so long, and she could tell by the way Jane shifted his weight from side to side that his feet had started to ache. Her attention was drawn back to the examination table when Clark picked up the skull.

"What type of gun was found at the scene?" he asked.

Lisbon told him, and Clark nodded. "Caliber of weapon registered to Robert Lisbon appears consistent with the size of the entrance wound," he said into his recording device. He looked up at Lisbon. "The X-rays of the skull showed the bullet is missing, as I expected," he said, pointing to another hole in the cranium—the exit wound. "Without the bullet, it becomes difficult to tie a certain gun to the crime."

Jane sighed and ran his hand over his face, but Lisbon looked over at Clark, intrigued.

"Difficult," she said, "but I'm guessing not impossible?"

Clark's eyes lit up as he nodded. "Definitely not impossible. I can take casts of the entrance and exit wounds. From these I might be able to reverse engineer the bullet—or at the very least, eliminate some types of guns. It'll take time, but it's doable."

"That would be much appreciated," Lisbon said.

"I have to warn you," cautioned Clark. "I'm not sure how much good it will do. Even if I can reverse engineer the bullet, it might only tell us that the bullet matches your father's gun. In that case, we won't have learned much of anything. But in the off-chance whoever killed him was stupid enough to use their own gun while using Robert's gun as a prop…"

Jane nodded. "If I've learned anything while working with law enforcement, it's to never underestimate the potential stupidity of a criminal."

"Even if it's a long shot, it's worth taking," agreed Lisbon.

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt met them for dinner at an Indian restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Van Pelt was still in the midst of pouring over financial records, a task made easier by Jane's suggestion that she look into the pathologist who had originally signed off on the uncompleted autopsy.

Van Pelt swallowed a bite of curry and spoke in a low voice. "A week after your father died, Lisbon, the pathologist—Bryant was his name—deposited a check for $30,000 into his savings account. It was in the middle of his pay period, so it wasn't his salary, and I couldn't find any other explanation for the deposit besides that he was paid off. I tried to look up his contact information, but he died six years ago."

"Damn," said Lisbon, leaning back in her chair and wishing she had ordered a milder dish. The Indian food was spicier than she'd bargained for. "Could you find any next of kin?"

"I had a young agent—kid named Wylie, looked like he graduated from Quantico last week—look into it. Wylie found Bryant's daughter; she just retired from teaching in South Chicago. I'll get Wylie to forward the contact info to you."

Lisbon nodded, and Cho spoke. "Dellinger refused to talk to us," he said.

"Well, we figured that would happen," said Lisbon half-heartedly.

"What we didn't figure was that the guy would look like a human punching bag," said Rigsby. "It was weird—spooky, even. There didn't seem to be a spot on him that wasn't scarred in some way. Fresh stitches above his eyebrow, long gash on his forearm—hell, even his ear looked like a bite had been taken out of it."

Jane shrugged. "So the guy probably has a rap sheet. Should be easy enough to find something to charge him with in order to bring him in."

Cho smiled—or as close to smiling as Cho could get. "That's what we were thinking."

"We looked into it," said Rigsby. "It's not just the Lanskys that this guy was feuding with—practically everyone in the city wants Dellinger behind bars. We checked out local pubs that Dellinger frequents. Turns out he hasn't been making any friends; in fact, he's been doing quite the opposite. He has a history of starting pub brawls. Been banned from quite a few places and tossed out of lot more."

"Perfect," said Lisbon. "Is at least one witness willing to speak to that?"

"One?" said Cho, disbelieving. "Try fifteen."

Lisbon grinned.

"Bring him in."

"You're nervous."

Jane glared at her. "You're not even looking at me. How could you possibly know that?"

Lisbon smiled and continued to keep her attention on the road as she navigated the SUV towards another Chicago suburb. Though the snow had stopped falling while the team had been eating in the Indian restaurant, the roads were still slick, and Lisbon was driving a few miles per hour under the speed limit.

"I learned from you, remember?" said Lisbon, watching out of her peripheral vision as Jane rolled his eyes.

There was a long pause, and finally Jane spoke. "If you must know, I've never been introduced to a girlfriend's family before," he said. "And I seem to be finding the task downright daunting."

She shot a glance at him. "You met Angela's family, didn't you?"

"Of course," said Jane. "But that was long before she and I started dating. When we officially became a couple, I'd known her family for several years already. I've never dated anyone besides her—and you, of course, love. Thus, I've never been introduced to my girlfriend's family before. It's frustratingly anxiety-inducing."

"You're nervous about meeting Stan and Jimmy?" Lisbon asked, referring to her Chicago-based brothers.

He met her gaze. "They're your family," he said, "so, in a way, they're my family, too. And I want them to like me."

"That's such bullshit, Jane. Never in all the years I've known you have you worried about trifles such as first impressions." She paused before continuing in a softer tone. "What is it really? What are you concerned about?"

It took him a while to answer—so long that by the time he did, Lisbon was already pulling off the interstate on the exit that would take them to Stan's neighborhood. Lisbon hadn't phone ahead, and she felt almost as nervous as Jane looked—she'd disappeared off the grid for a year and hadn't been able to contact her family. She wasn't sure how they would react to her sudden reappearance.

"I guess I'm apprehensive that they'll be disappointed in you," Jane said finally.

"Why the hell would they be disappointed in me?"

"Because you chose me," said Jane simply.

Lisbon stopped at a deserted four-way intersection and put the car in park. She turned towards him.

"We both know there are plenty of men out there who would be far better for you than I am," said Jane. "I took you away from your family for a year, and I put you in danger by drawing Red John's attention to you. I haven't exactly been husband-worthy material."

Lisbon's stomach lurched at his mention of the word husband—it had been the first time he'd alluded to them getting married, though they'd had several conversations about possibly expanding their little family in the future. She tried to push aside the wonder that one word instilled in her in order to focus on the conversation at hand.

Her eyes narrowed at him and flashed in the moonlight.

"There might be plenty of people out there who fit your definition of 'better for me'," Lisbon said testily, "but I don't happen to be in love with any of them. I'm in love with you. And you've saved my life as many times as I've saved yours, so no more using the 'I've put you in danger' excuse. We've had this discussion before, Jane."

He nodded. "I know," he said. "I know. And I am working on it. I promise I am. Problem is there's just a lot of stuff to work through—it's going to take me some time."

She smiled. "I know," she said, taking his hand and returning her attention to the road. "Take all the time you need. We have lots of it."