AN: Thanks for the continued interest in this story! I hope you all enjoy this newest installment.
Jane wakes up the next morning to the sound of the shower. He rolls over, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window.
His cell phone begins to vibrate.
Groaning, Jane reaches for the cell, putting it against his ear as he accepts the call.
"Morning, Cho," he says.
Cho doesn't bother with greetings. "You had a chance to be briefed on the case yet?" he asks.
"No," he admits. "We weren't really capable of much beyond basic functioning yesterday."
"Fair enough," says Cho. "You planning on visiting Lisbon's family?"
"I think that's her plan, yes," Jane confirms. "However, I think it will be easier on her if I'm not with her while she attends to family members. I'd really just be intruding anyway."
"In that case, we could use your help at the scene this morning," Cho says. "We didn't get a chance to see it yesterday—we got to police headquarters too late. Autopsy is scheduled for this afternoon. Think you can convince Lisbon not to go if I promise to oversee it?"
Jane closes his eyes. "That might be a tough sell," he says. "But if it comes down to it, you're technically her superior now. You could order her not to attend."
"I'd rather it not come to that."
"Yeah, I figured." Jane lets out a breath. "I'll talk to her. At the very least, she'll want to see the scene."
"I have no problem with that. She'll probably be able to provide insights no one else could anyway."
"Agreed. Was he found at his house?"
"Bedroom. Karen got home late from a girls' night out and found him there."
Jane takes a moment to steady himself when he notices that his hand is shaking, causing the phone to quiver.
"Where is Karen staying now?"
"At her parents' house in the suburbs." His voice becomes muffled, and Jane thinks he must be speaking with Rigsby or Grace. "Listen, Jane—can you text me the address of the hotel you're staying at? We'll pick you up on the way so Lisbon can have the rental car to go see her family."
"Sure," Jane says. "See you soon."
When he ends the call, he hears Lisbon turn off the shower. He moves around the room, pulling on clothes and trying to mentally prepare himself for the day ahead.
It occurs to him that however much pain he is feeling, however much he wants to break down, to give into temptation and retreat into himself, it is nothing compared to the agony Lisbon must be going through. Though this is no comfort, it allows him to move forward.
She will need him today.
And he will be there for her.
Ten minutes later, Lisbon still hasn't opened the door to the bathroom, and Jane knocks softly.
"Lisbon?" he asks. "Is everything alright?"
When she doesn't respond, he tries the doorknob, relief flooding his veins when he finds it to be unlocked.
She is leaning against the sink, fully-clothed but hair still wet, her hands splayed across the counter. He watches as she takes several deep breaths. Then she looks at him.
Her eyes are dry but emotionless, and he doesn't know if this is a good or bad sign.
Lisbon reaches past him for the hairdryer, and he watches as she tames her natural waves and curls for her more typical straight style.
Eventually, she turns the hairdryer off, sets it down, and moves toward him. She gives him a sad smile then reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss the angle of his jaw.
He turns to watch her move past him. "Cho called," he says, and she glances at him over her shoulder. He relays the important parts of the conversation, describing the plans for the day, and she nods.
To his surprise, she agrees without protest when he asks her not to attend the autopsy. "I don't want to see it," she whispers, avoiding his eyes. He watches as she blinks rapidly, and he takes two steps toward her, coming to stand at her shoulder. "I don't want to remember my brother like that."
Jane grabs her hand and leans his head down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. She grips his fingers tightly.
They stay like that for several minutes before he feels her physically shake herself. "Cho is probably waiting for you," she says, moving away from him. "We should go."
She heads for the door, but he grabs her elbow. "My phone will be on all day," he says. "If you need anything, anything at all…"
"I know," she says, her eyes becoming watery again, and she turns away before he can see the tears fall.
Stan's home is small and a little dingy, a typical house for a newly-married couple. The living room and kitchen make up the ground floor; the upper floor is composed of the three bedrooms, one of which is currently sectioned off with yellow crime scene tape.
Exactly one hour after the team arrives at the house, so does Lisbon. Jane looks up from his place in the living room, surprised, as she opens the door.
"Hey," he says softly, and his eyes are drawn to the redness of her eyes and the shadows beneath them. He doesn't approach her, wondering if she wants a little distance.
She stares blankly at the entryway for a minute or so before she visibly comes back to herself. She closes the door behind her, catching sight of Jane, and she moves to his side. He turns away from the bookshelf he'd been examining to face her.
"How is Karen?"
Lisbon shrugs. "About as good as you'd expect. I actually felt like I was more of a hindrance than a help to her since she's got her parents around, so I decided I could be of more use here with the team."
Jane sighs. "I wish I had better news for you, but we haven't really found anything yet."
Despite everything that's happened, the corner of her mouth twitches up. "That's not something I hear from Patrick Jane every day."
"Statistically speaking, there will be times, however rarely they occur, when I fail to find anything useful," he says, and he is rewarded by another smile.
Suddenly, the smile disappears as her eyes lock onto the bookshelf in front of them. She kneels down, examining the bottom shelf, and looks up at him. "No one's removed anything from here?" she asks, gesturing to the empty spaces in the middle of the shelf.
Jane frowns. "Not that I'm aware," he says. "Why?"
Lisbon checks every shelf, clearly looking for something. When she doesn't find it, she looks at Jane out of the corner of her eye. "Before I moved out to California for college, I gave my brother all the photo albums that my mom had made documenting our childhoods." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "The only pictures I had of my mom were in those albums, and I was terrified that I would lose them in the move. Stan offered to take care of them, and whenever I came to visit, he'd always pull them out so we could look over them together." Her expression turns pained. "He kept them here," she says, gesturing to the shelf with the spaces again.
"Maybe he moved them," Jane says, his voice low. But he doesn't believe this, and he can tell Lisbon doesn't believe it either.
Lisbon immediately reaches into her pocket to grab her phone. She turns away as she dials Karen, and walks around to the kitchen to compose himself.
What the hell would Red John want with a bunch of photo albums?
He rubs a hand over his face and returns to the living room as Lisbon is hanging up.
"Karen says they looked at the albums just last week—she remembers because that night they decided they wanted to try for a baby. She says she put them back on the shelf when they were done looking."
Seconds of silence pass, one after the other, and neither Jane nor Lisbon can figure out what to say.
Finally, Lisbon looks over at him. "Why?" she whispers. "Why did he take them?"
Jane feels helpless. "You know why," he says as the answer suddenly occurs to him.
It's a cop-out response, but he can't say the words out loud.
Red John took the albums because he knew losing them would hurt you, he thinks. Nothing more, nothing less.
Lisbon nods.
There is movement from upstairs, and Jane looks up at the ceiling as it creaks. He hears Rigsby ask Grace a question before he returns his attention to Lisbon.
He is suddenly struck by how small she really is. Though Lisbon's toughness, her tenacity, and even her tenderness give her a larger-than-life quality, she is human.
Just like him.
"So this is what Erica meant?" Lisbon asks, and Jane takes a step forward. "This is what she meant when she told you that Red John would be targeting me?"
He can't speak, so he just nods.
"What if this is only the beginning?" she whispers.
Jane wants more than anything to reassure her, to tell her that the worst has passed—that the end is in sight for Red John.
But he can't force out the lie.
Instead, he reaches into his suit vest and pulls out an evidence bag. He hands the bag to Lisbon, and her quivering fingers cause it—and the piece of paper contained within—to shake.
"'Dear Ms. Lisbon,'" she reads, sounding as though she may hyperventilate. "'More to come. Send Patrick my regards.'" Her hands move slightly, but Jane moves faster, snatching away the note before she can crumple it up.
Instead, her hands clench around air.
"It's evidence, Lisbon," he says gently.
She inhales through her nose, turning away from him. "You and I both know there's not going to be anything of use to forensics on that note."
"We still have to check."
Her shoulders sag. "I know."
She turns her head toward him but looks at his shoes instead of his eyes. "Are you going to the autopsy this afternoon?"
"Do you want me to?"
She gives him a sharp nod. "I trust Cho," she says quietly, "but I don't want them to miss anything. You'll make sure that doesn't happen."
"Okay," he responds. He hates autopsies. Hates the smell, hates the doctors, hates the shining silver surfaces—but if Lisbon asked him to, he'd attend a hundred of them. "Are you going to be with someone during that time?"
She nods again. "Jimmy, Tommy, and Annabeth fly in this afternoon. I'm going to meet them at the airport." She scratches at her nose, sniffling slightly. "Call me when you're done?" she asks weakly.
"Of course."
Jane steps forward and reaches out to place his fingers underneath her chin, to tip her head up so that he can see her eyes. They are silent for almost a minute, just looking at each other.
"Don't let him get to you, Lisbon," Jane says finally. "Don't let him in."
But something breaks behind her eyes, and she pulls away from him to move upstairs.
"Too late," she whispers.