A few months after the funeral, the world inexplicably continued to turn. And though Patrick did indeed find ways to live without his beloved Teresa, he found the sun shone less brightly without her. In fact, every sensation overall seemed muted. His smile still beamed when he was with his family and friends, but was always tempered just slightly, as if he were saving that last ten percent of sparkle for her. Brendan and Meg spoke frequently about the multitude of times they'd noticed him scanning the room quickly, as if he expected to see her smiling back at him like she always did, only to look down in sad realization.

One rainy Tuesday, Patrick awkwardly entered the narthex of his family's home church, feeling terribly underdressed. He wore his trademark three-piece suit and had even sprung for a shiny new pair of shoes. But it wasn't the outside that felt 'less than;' it was all of the regrets that he'd locked away on the day Teresa had said 'yes' to him. Not the guilt about the loss of his first family, so much; but the guilt about the suckers he'd fleeced under the tutelage of Alex Jane, and right up to the moment he'd been smacked awake by Red John's cruelty. He couldn't even recall the names of most of those marks, despite his airtight mind; he figured it was what the quacks liked to call 'repressed memory.' At any rate, he was terrified that the priest would see his transgressions immediately, and shut down the whole gag.

Seemingly aware of his newly-found lamb's anxieties, Father O'Brien approached with a warm smile, and a hot cup of tea. "Good morning, Patrick! I find that chamomile is wonderful on a rainy day. Care for a cup?"

Visibly relieved, Jane reached for the cup and saucer with sincere thanks. He closed his eyes to breathe-in the steamy scent, and took a long soothing sip. Please let me be wrong.

As they walked the aisles of the opulent cathedral, Patrick clung to the teacup like a lifeline as Father O'Brien explained the process, suggesting they begin with confession.

Jane straightened immediately. He knew it; everything was going to be discovered in step one. He was doomed. As he drew-in more warmth from his cup, Teresa's words played in his mind: "Trust the mysteries… Trust your heart…"

"Patrick? You alright?" The Father was not at all thrown off by Jane's demeanor; he'd seen this sort of 'deer in headlights' reaction to the suggestion of confession hundreds of times.

"Yes, sorry…" Jane stuttered. "Well… it's just… You may want to clear your schedule for the next day or two – maybe a week?" Jane half-joked.

"Ha!" O'Brien chuckled amiably, lightly patting Jane on the shoulder. "Believe me when I tell you that I've heard it all, my son. And whatever you tell me stops right here with you and me; I am forbidden to share anything you say with anyone else."

"Except for the Big Man, you mean," Jane sparkled, attempting to cover his nerves with a mischievous shimmer.

"Well, yes. I act as a sort of conduit. You speak and God hears, even more clearly than I do. For he hears not just your words, but your heart, your intentions, your regrets and your pain. Confession is meant not to be damning, but to be freeing. It intends to lighten your load by giving those negative acts, thoughts, and fears to God."

Jane wasn't sure he believed that; it was more likely that a giant bolt of lightning was about to pierce him through the spire of the place. Still, he'd promised Teresa he'd find her, so the risk was one he was willing to take. "Okay then. How does this work?"

Jane followed the robed holy man and followed every instruction, holding back nearly every snarky comment that toyed with his mind and determinedly refusing to play tricks on the good Father, despite the multitude of opportunities that presented themselves throughout the process.

Eventually, the rite itself was begun. Jane began tentatively, with fragmented doubts and worries. Those concerns snowballed quickly into a painful and anxious list of transgressions, ending in desperate pleas: "There are just so many, Father. There's no chance in hell for a charlatan like me… God help me!" Patrick hung his head in his hands, trembling with disillusionment over what he assumed was a lost cause.

"And you just spoke the magic words, Patrick," Father O'Brien spoke calmly, smiling on his own side of the confessional screen.

"What?" The charlatan in question muttered, still sobbing

"You asked God for help," the priest clarified.

Jane shook his head in silence. The Father didn't understand, the words had just come out, unintentionally, almost under his breath.. Obviously such a random emotional outburst couldn't possibly count for anything with God. "But I was just.. I was a little desperate there, and-"

"That's always when God does his best work, my son: when we are a little desperate. Stay on that line, Patrick. Add 'God forgive me' to that sentiment."

He felt so out of his depth here… and that feeling was causing a spiral of panic. But then he did what he had done for years to steer away from panicked thoughts: What would Lisbon say to him now? What would she do? After a deep contemplative breath, he timidly recited: "God forgive me… God help me…" then growing more determined, "God let me be wrong… God save me… save me a spot... beside my irreplaceable Teresa… I know you know her… And, really, saving me would be helping her too, right?"

Father O'Brien stifled a chuckle upon hearing Jane's last sentence – people always wanted to bargain with God – and the Father remembered Teresa's many conversations about her beloved husband's penchant for persuasion. He couldn't wait to tell the man that he had already done the heavy lifting for himself well before that well-placed sales pitch had been uttered.

With great relief, Jane found that the rest of his plan came much more easily, the embarrassing skeletons having now been poured from the closet of his past. He allowed Brendan and Meghan to guide him through the weekly mass; though he admitted those services still weren't really his thing. The part of the plan he absolutely loved most was volunteering with the many church-facilitated support groups and service organizations.

Jane thrived in service to others. His children were not the least bit surprised to see how easily he fell into step with attempts to make things right for those who had been wronged. After all, his actions now weren't all that different from his sometimes-secret plays while in law enforcement. He'd often gone out of his way to bring justice, or healing, or a smile to victims when he'd had the opportunity. And at the charity events he helped with now, he was especially adept at bringing much-needed laughter and smiles to those in need. Jane found himself being both healed and embraced by the work. He felt embraced by her as well. Teresa would love seeing him in this role, he smiled to himself. He could swear he felt her approving presence at every single event. But no matter how many times he surveyed the space around him, her emerald eyes were never there.

Jane's shattered heart continued beating its mournful tune just long enough to finish his memoir and the additional, 'rated G' version of his love story with Lisbon. At dinner with the kids and their families one night - his birthday (which he'd begun celebrating again ever since he'd married his favorite cop) - they presented him with a portrait they'd secretly had taken of both of their two families. His children and grandchildren were so proud to have kept him from guessing!

Nestled in back of that frame was a canvas enlargement of his favorite photo of him with Lisbon. It was the one that Franklin Morales had taken of them on the beach. Lisbon was a vision in her sarong and long, flowing shirt. Jane was shaggy-haired and slightly bearded, looking like a beachcomber with epaulets. "More beautiful than the night sky in the tropics, my dear." He murmured to himself, but loud enough for the family to hear. Brendan and Meg smiled at each other, knowing they'd nailed it with his gift this year.

After his smiles and words of thanks to the children he adored so much, He surprised them, presenting them with a gift. The origami frog jumped - causing a squeal from the now-tween and teenage grandchildren, and a laugh from the adults - then began a short scavenger hunt that ended with two boxes of letters, and two printed memoirs. To Patrick's unfettered delight, it was none other than Charlotte Jane Hernandez who produced the key to the secret boxes from behind her Grampa Jane's left ear. "Well played, my dear Charlotte Jane!" He smiled, seeing a bit of his mother in the dusty-blonde beauty and magical personality of his eldest grandchild.

Just days after his joyful birthday dinner, Patrick Jane's fragmented, mosaic heart stopped beating altogether.

At his funeral, the Jane children looked on, holding closely to their families and to one another - both grieving their loss, and feeling overwhelmed at the immense love that existed between their mother and father… the deep love in which they were conceived… the deep love that they'd marveled at their entire lives, the deep love that seemed to extend to their own families; after growing up with such a loving example of marriage, they'd each settled for nothing less when choosing and caring for their own partners.

Later, the two siblings found and read through some of the letters and Jane's memoir of his and Lisbon's love story. The depth and weight of their parents history hit them hard, and they clung to their spouses and children as they read through the tale.

"I really want to publish this someday. It's an unbelievably beautiful story, the way they both sort of saved one another." Meghan spoke through thick emotion. She had long been in awe of the way her mom and dad used to look right into each other; so taken by their deep love, and how they each seemed to be innately aware of what they had - and the rarity of that.

"Well, you've always been the writer in the family. I think that would be amazing, Meg!" Brendan agreed.

"It's a plan then. I'll do the research, any additional writing, and editing if you want to look into publishing and such?"

"It would be my pleasure! I can't think of a better tribute to them, sis!"

"I'm already thinking of titles! What about 'The Mentalist and the Cop: a love story?' Or ooh! What about 'More Than Words?' Or, hmm, NO WAIT - I've got it! Oh, THIS one should've been obvious from the start: 'What You Mean to Me!'"

"That really has to be the one!"

"It does! I can't wait to get started! There's probably more than one book's worth of material here… Might need to make it a trilogy or something!"

Meanwhile, Jane found himself in a strange but familiar place: Part carnival, part open meadow, part house-without-wheels. The place was organized remarkably like his own memory palace.

Familiar, but long-passed friends greeted him, one-by-one: Virgil Minelli, followed by Sophie Miller; Jane's long-lost mother, pulling a coin from behind his ear with a sparkle; LeeLee Barlow; a young FBI agent named Vega, who had died tragically in the line of duty, shortly after Jane and Lisbon had fallen in love; Pete and Sam Barsocky, who'd passed a decade prior; and even, surprisingly, his father Alex. "Well, there's more proof that forgiveness is real," he mumbled with a chuckle. A couple he'd never met passed by with a wave and a smile, and he puzzled over their connection to him. They seemed familiar somehow and were apparently first-responders, but he was positive he didn't know them. Just as he was coming to an amazed realization about the Chicago-based identities of the young nurse and firefighter who had just offered their hellos (Wasn't Lisbon's mom a nurse? He was sure her father had been a fireman), his attention was drawn to a voice he had missed for more than a lifetime: "Good to see you, Paddy!"

It was Angela Ruskin, with their beloved Charlotte by her side.

With a gasp, Jane turned and engulfed the family he had lost first, in an especially joyous reunion. The three of them clung together in a group hug for what seemed like hours, yet still not long enough.

After a long, tender kiss, Angela pulled back, with a proud look on her face.

"Told you!" Angela crowed

"Told me what?" Jane countered with an amused smile.

"That someday we would ALL be together!" She sparkled.

He smiled at the memory of what he'd thought to have been a hallucinated conversation; one he'd had with his first wife when he was recovering with gunshot wounds in Austin, decades prior.

They talked for hours about Ferris wheels, their history together, life here and now, and how he'd found redemption after they were taken. Strangely, Jane found that he felt no remaining pain, guilt or anger over the way they had died.

Angela explained: "Here, there is no more sorrow, pain or shame, Paddy. Char and I are free from our wounds, and you are free from your feelings of guilt."

He marveled to her about how everyone appeared to be exactly as they were when he last saw them, or as they were in his happiest memories of them. "Or, in your case, dear Charlotte, the way I last hallucinated you!" He chuckled, as his firstborn rolled her eyes and smiled. No one he encountered seemed to have aged in the least.

All at once, he remembered who he had come here most expecting to see. Quickly scanning the crowd in this lawn party scene, he was visibly desperate to find her. Angela smiled knowingly and said "She's over in the tent. It's sort of the command center for this welcome party of yours."

Of course she's in charge of all this! He thought, and his trademark grin spread from ear to ear as he rushed to find her.

Lisbon looked as radiant as the day they met, or as the day they found they were in love, or as on their wedding day, or maybe more radiant than all of those days put together. She was standing in front of a rolling whiteboard full of charts, menus and personnel, managing all the catering staff and greeters, delegating and making sure that all of Patrick's friends and family were enjoying themselves and that they all knew where to find him - ensuring that he could be surprised and overjoyed time and time again with each new reunion.

He so deserved this eternal happiness and joy, and she was elated to have had a part in bringing it to him - and in bringing him to it. She paused just long enough to smile at the thought of him seeing Angela and Charlotte again, healed, happy and whole, and was tempted to become melancholy about not being there to see his beautiful face light up at the first sight of them. But Angela had promised to share all the details, and they had become close as sisters, she and Lisbon, ever since Teresa had arrived. They both took great joy in sharing their memories of Patrick, and in planning this welcome party that they'd both hoped and prayed would come.

Then, as she looked over the scene, her heart overflowing, imagining how happy that reunion must have been, her eyes found him from a distance, just as his eyes locked onto her. She ran full speed for him, and he for her, the two colliding into a full embrace for what seemed like an eternity; the weight of their reunion pulling hard at both of their hearts. The depth of their love apparent to all, they smiled and kissed and held one another tightly, in shared euphoria at being together again.

He breathed her in, and whispered "Oh, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too!" She beamed. "Thank you for the letters."

She was really there, standing right in front of him. He couldn't stop smiling at the feel of her, back in his arms. "But wait," Jane wondered, amazed, "how'd I get here? Did you pull strings with God or something?!" Jane's eyes lit up, "He went for the deal?!"

"Stop it, Patrick!" she rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly, "I pulled ZERO strings for this. I simply made sure the 'powers that be' paid attention to your loving heart, and all the good you were doing in your life: battling bad guys as a 'cop-adjacent,' righting as many wrongs as you could, always going out of your way to bring joy to victims and others we encountered, as well as battling child hunger and such with the church charities. And God knows full well all that you suffered earlier, starting from childhood - all of that was taken into account."

He raised an eyebrow of doubt. Wondering how a murderer could get into heaven.

Reading his expression, she explained: "Every single resident here has things they were ashamed of before - but that is all washed away now. You asked forgiveness like Father O'Brien instructed when you approached him, and that's what finalized your path, starting your journey here.

He stood, amazed.

"And yes," she confessed, "If you want to call it string-pulling, I have prayed for your arrival here every single day - ever since you first stumbled into the CBI."

"From the first day?" He grinned blindingly.

"Well you were kind of a mess, remember?" she confirmed, half-giggling along with her husband. "But yes! And sometimes multiple times in a single day - depending on how much trouble you had gotten yourself into!"

Jane laughed even harder as joyful tears broke loose on his cheeks. He had so missed her playful jabs. Teresa gently cupped her hand on the side of his face to dry those tears, reveling in how his stubbly cheek massaged her palm as she did. Happy tears of her own began to form.

"But honestly, Patrick," she continued, taking his hands in hers, "after we found each other and became a couple, the prayers more than doubled. And the majority of those were prayers of gratitude and thanks for our life together, and for your new-found happiness. I've always told you that you are a good man. And despite your lack of belief in that, the leadership here is apparently on my side," she smiled, triumphantly.

Jane softened with the most relaxed smile ever, as he realized that both Angela and Teresa may have been right about him after all. He took a deep, cleansing breath. It's true. I really was wrong. Thank you, God.

"I adore you, Teresa," he whispered.

"And I adore you, love," she replied, with a long, deep kiss.

"Well that's lucky," he smirked, eyes sparkling with the familiar mischief, "because it looks like you're stuck with me, literally, forever!"

She gave him a playful smack on his arm. He winked and gave her a squeeze, beaming at the prospect of 'literally forever' with Teresa Lisbon Jane.

"The End! What do you think, Brendan?"

"I think that's the perfect ending to their story, Meg! Let's get this baby to the printers!"

The End

(So what do you think? Did Jane actually end up in some version of heaven with all of his loves? Did he hallucinate them into temporary existence as he lay dying? Was the ending just a hopeful imagination in his loving daughter Meghan's mind as she finished scripting her parents' story? I'll leave that to you to decide, though I admit it was written with the first option in mind. What can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic and an idealist! :) )