So I'm really excited for the new season and I'm finally getting some free time to write wahoo! What I'm not happy about is reading all the interviews and seeing that they are still saying that Jane and Lisbon have a 'sibling relationship'. If I see this one more time I swear I will scream. I have male friends who I think of like brothers, if I behaved this way with them, their girlfriends would slap me.

This is my therapy, which'll show how annoyed I am I don't really do romance, even if its angst.

Disclaimer: I don't own, it if I did I wouldn't be so full of bovine excrement Heller!


All that shimmers in this world is sure to fade:

The sky was thick and heavy. A blended mix of harsh greys, so weighted that they seemed mere feet from the ground. It was so close Lisbon felt she could almost touch it. If only she had the strength to lift her arm, spread her fingers and caress the oncoming storm.

Instead she remained still, sitting under the heavy blankets too thick for the season. It was not a comfort but a weight pressing on her, almost as strong as the one pressing on her chest.

Eventually it became too much for the sky and the room darkened as the fats droplets began thrumming a constant beat against the glass. The inch long rivulets mimicked the tears that had streamed from eyes earlier; perhaps mother earth felt her pain.

A street light came on, sensing the dark. The hazy, soft edged glow did little to lift her maudlin mood. The vice around her heart clenched, she was turning frozen inside, dying, a plucked flower wilting. The grip was so tight it crushed her insides slowly, painfully, vessels rupturing one by one, so slow it felt like she could hear it happen.

Her head was also throbbing, just in case she wasn't suffering enough, her martyrdom was almost complete.

The knowledge of her ulcer was common, but her migraines less so. Sure Jane was aware, the damn man knew everything. She had nothing left, he had it all, figures he had stripped her of her innermost thoughts too.

Right now in the dim light of a street lamp, she sought to escape the brightness of the world, to flee light. Hiding in the shadows she was seeking refuge from the pounding in her head and in her heart. The pressure had been building all day, she knew her mask was gone and her eyes housed her despair.

So the man had hit her, so he brought her back to the first moment she felt the sting of failure, she was not good enough to stop her father, nor the criminal today.

He hadn't come, he stayed with Lorelie.

She let everyone down including herself and she knew now there was no chance of saving Jane. She expelled her breath aggravating the bruise on her torso. She was glad for small mercies that he hadn't hit her face.

She had been... ... still was... distracted. She couldn't sleep even now; he was back in body but not in spirit.

She had lost focus, her mind only allowed for one train of thought. He said 'love you', he lied. She was an easy target.

If he hadn't... betrayed her, then they would be okay, could be them, whatever they were, but now there was another. She felt broken; it was hard to place into words your body's betrayal of your own self. She burrowed deeper into the couch. Turning her head towards the leather, she sought the comforting softness.

All in all he had to get Red John didn't he, told her the guilty party and let her be. He had better things to do.

Jane was so distracted, he hadn't cared, he was on a mission and she was merely an obstacle. She had feared the day when she became replaceable, had fooled herself into believing that the looks, silent communication, stolen touches meant something, that he felt maybe half of what she felt. She could live with that, someone always loves more; instead his indifference spoke louder than any romantic declarations.

She needed to move on, it was unhealthy but when she is with him, she feels like her whole being is on fire. If she leaves that she'll be left cold and she has already lost so much. She closes her eyes, the light still too strong for her and does what she always does, waits for the storm to pass hoping tomorrow will be better.


The ground was losing its battle against the onslaught of water; his feet sank further into the clay earth. The road had become a small river, its current removing random debris, floating it down to towards the next gutter.

Her light was off despite the darkness. These days, most assuredly thanks to him she was probably more comfortable there, in the shadows. No doubt she had a migraine from the stress. She wasn't eating or sleeping and then this, her one certainty, her ability to handle herself gets rocked. All because he couldn't keep a lock on his emotions, her thoughts had been elsewhere and that ass had hit her, his Lisbon.

He wanted to kill him, to turn that weasel inside out, cut him, hurt him, splay him before her as the worthless nothing he was.

He couldn't though, he was acutely aware that his tentative grip on his sanity was slipping. He was becoming more and more like his nemesis everyday. He longed to see her, be close, to remind him of what good looked like, and felt like. His constant touches, regardless of how small, were all he had, humans crave touch, he only craved her.

Right now he didn't think she had it in her.

She had survived countless attacks on her faith, her morals, her soul... yet he was what would destroy her in the end.

He stood just out of her sight, his clothes stuck to his form, the cold water running down his back. He could barely see through the torrents crashing on his face. Goosebumps triumphed over bio feedback and chills shuddered through him at regular intervals. His skin was tinged purple, yet he would not move. He was in purgatory; he would take his punishment with pride.

She had been injured while he was busy with the siren. He had not heeded the right call and had allowed her to get hurt physically, though the mental torture she suffered was all his doing.

He had spent ten years drawing her to him, yes for the longest time it was subconsciously, but it was there just below the surface glowing bright ready to escape. He was tired of pretending that he didn't feel it too. They crackled with chemistry, passion, desire.

He wanted to kneel before her, pull out his belt and perform self flagellation until all the sins he committed against her in his hunt for the murderer were atoned.

She was his saviour and he, her downfall. Yet he can't stop this dance. Round and round they go, moving closer, pulling away but always at arms length. He fears the day she meets someone else.

He knows things are changing, the love she has is no longer as visible, it's begun to shimmer, to flicker and he begs whichever deity may exist that it won't fade.

If he wasn't a selfish man he would never have let her in, let her believe in the possibility of them. He needed her to though, that dream has been the substance he has fed on for years, when food and sleep fail to nourish him, and it sustains him. He hides from it, honestly he almost scared of how powerful it has become, but he can't loose her too.

So he stands just outside her vision, loving her from afar and will do so until Red john is dead.