Disclaimer: If you seriously think that I own the Mentalist, then you ought to seek mental help.

A/N: Because Cho is awesome and not enough people write fic for him. This ficlet is set towards the beginning of 4x01.

A happy first night of Hanukkah to those who celebrate it!

Cho vaguely remembers taking a class on Elizabethan Drama back in college. One of the first plays that they'd read had been Kyd's inimitable The Spanish Tragedy. Hugely popular and influential in its day, the play had ushered in a new genre of English theatre: the revenge tragedy.

He's been thinking about that a lot lately. Revenge. And tragedy. And how the two necessarily seem to be intertwined.

He's recently been reminded he's just a bit player in someone else's story. And although it seems that the curtain has gone down on the show, that Jane has achieved his goal, Cho's got a bad feeling that the play's only just beginning. There aren't enough dead bodies littering the stage yet, you see.

Elizabethan theatre-goers loved watching violence unfold on stage just as much as modern audiences do. Human nature remains the same, he supposes. Groundlings considered a play a waste if the stage wasn't stacked with gory corpses by its final act. Cho has a suspicion that Red John – a showman every bit as much as Jane – feels similarly.

The proof of Jane killing a man is incontrovertible; there are witnesses, security videos; hell, Jane himself freely admits to the murder. And Jane seems positive that the man he killed was Red John. When was the last time Jane was mistaken?

Jane has avenged his wife and daughter but will pay for it with a life in jail. The conspirators have all seemingly been found and punished. Lisbon and Van Pelt have been hurt, but will recover eventually. The rest of them limp onwards, demoted, but still alive. By all indications, all loose plot threads have been tied up neatly.

And maybe that's the problem. It's all just a bit too neat.

Cho has this feeling in his gut, a twisted lump of cold foreboding. This play has had betrayals and conspiracies, comedic and romantic subplots, plot twists and deaths. But its final act – if, indeed, it is its final act – makes Cho think of an intermission, a deceptive lull in the action.

Cho's been a cop long enough to know that life outside of fiction rarely wraps up this neatly. So he does his best to help his coworkers and waits.

Waits for the other shoe to drop.