Authors note:

What I wouldn't give for Lisbon to do something drastic to wake Jane up. C'mon Heller, make Jane work for his forgiveness just once, pleeeaaase. At this stage I almost feel like I want to fly to Sac and smack her upside the head, as Lisbon should have entered that battered women's shelter for all the abuse Jane throws her way.

I was disappointed with the ending as I both loved Lorelei and loathed her, loved her partly because she had vulnerability and was a warning of how it could all go and loathed her, because , well she was a tramp. I will miss how she stirred up a hornets nest every time she was on screen and I felt she deserved more than that.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. And there are no doubt mistakes but I had to just wing this as I'm supposed to be preparing for a meeting tomorrow and instead all I could think about was this!


The mattress felt severe, no matter which way she lay. Lisbon tossed and turned trying to find relief but with every new position, it still pushed against her skin with bruising rigidity.

The soft satin cover, normally so supple, itched, while her blanked was stifling, pressing heavily on her chest. Moving around, it was almost like she was being choked by it, she felt imprisoned as it slithered around her limbs, like ropes confining her.

Her mind flashed back to the slain woman. No matter how she felt about Lorelei she had deserved better.

God she in so many ways hated that woman but tonight she uttered a quick prayer that her soul may find eternal rest. She may have done terrible things but she was no worse than most Lisbon encountered. She had been broken by her past and that was one thing Lisbon and most of her team could understand. The sins of the parents corrupt the child.

It had frustrated her that she had begun to sympathise with the young woman, especially on meeting her mother, that frightful, dreadful woman. Determined as Lisbon was to see Lorelei as pure evil, just so she could justify her alliance with a killer and give some order to this world, she knew that there was almost always a reason why.

Now instead she saw a sad and pitiful person, so beautiful on the outside, so empty on the inside. Lisbon's mother had used to say everyone was like a vase, and it was up to you to fill yourself up with as much substance as you can, to add weight to who you are, so you can withstand the knocks of life.

Okay she had said that so Teresa would do her homework but regardless, as she had grown up she had found it to be true.

Sighing in frustration she threw back the covers. Goose bumps rose on her skin from the chill of the night, her jersey a weak barrier against the rapidly lowering temperature. Autumn was here and Winter would soon follow.

Lisbon moved to her window pulling on a robe to combat the night air. She was too wired to sleep anyway. She drew back the curtain and let the orange glow of the street lamp flood the room.

She lived opposite a row of houses and despite the late hour there was life. She could see her neighbours watching television through their blinds, legs entangled as they drew heat and happiness from simply being with each other.

Old Mr Thompson was walking his yippee terrier Wilson. The tiny terror was pulling hard on the lead and growling at anything that came too close. Lisbon softly smiled at the animal's behaviour; it could hardly reach a foot in height on its hind legs.

Her breath was fogging up the glass and she resisted the urge to draw designs in it. She used to leave notes for Tommy on various surfaces around the house. It would entertain him for hours going round the rooms, breathing out, trying to find a message. She missed him, tonight more than ever.

She wanted someone to hold her, to tell her the world wasn't as bad as it seemed. That good still existed, that love was stronger that hate and revenge, and she wanted that person to truly care for her as they did.

She knew why she was awake, the real reason her head was pounding, her heart racing and her stomach sick.

She had called Jane a cold bastard once before, but tonight was the first time she feared him, feared what he was capable of and despised who he had become. Worse, she hated who she was just as much.

In the academy they talked about domestic abuse a lot. Look out for women who have bruises, broken bones, scars, but they never talked about the internal ones.

Those scars delivered by words that cut too deep, or when a person changes you so slowly that you just wake up one day and don't know who you are without them anymore. Love and hate in equal measures and the only certainty you have, is that if they leave you, you'll wither and die like a plucked flower, slowly decaying until you are no more. She had been close before.

She watched the young couple across the road move to their nursery. Hank rocked little Joey back and forth, no doubt humming a soft lullaby while Ruth went to get his bottle. A scene of perfect domesticity like this, no longer pained her like it used to. Her happy ending was never coming.

She thought of Jane doing that with Charlotte, she could easily picture it. Such gentleness, love and peace, now all of that has gone. Extinguished along with their lives, if he had a soul, it had shattered that day. It merged with the blood of his loved ones, until only darkness remained. A taint ingrained in him that was now spreading to her.

She noticed the nursery wall was the same colour as where they found Lorelei's victim. The bloody hand print was so stark; bright red on green and it had shook her more than it should have.

It was like so many of her crime scenes now, selfish reasons spilling blood, vengeance in place of justice. In her head she heard it swirling round, he did this, her blood is on his hands. He felt guilty for so many things out of his control and was so callous towards those he was actually responsible for.

Returning from Bertram's office she had seen him lost in thought. She had hoped he was shaken by Lorelei's actions, that he had realised the consequences of his decision. He had set a killer free and her actions were on him, yet he mocked her fears over their involvement and said he trusted Lorelei.

If that wasn't bad enough, the rage she had felt on realising Jane had flouted her trust yet again and then lied to her face was nothing to the devastation that overwhelmed her on his admission of his feelings.

She knew she was playing with fire demanding an answer but she had to know and boy did she now. Trust, feelings, his protection, he gave so much so easily to her when she had, had to earn very crumb he gave her.

Then when she threatened to leave him he dismissed her consequences as if they were nothing. Fully believing she was incapable of following through. She had of course proved him right.

Lisbon had hoped he would perhaps see the error of his ways, however it was looking more and more like he no longer cared. They are all collateral damage in his hunt.

If Red John wanted Patrick to join him, he sure as Hell was doing a great job in aligning their thoughts, in moulding his protégé to his likeness, to spreading his darkness.

To Jane the end justifies the means, there was a bigger picture no matter who got hurt and that damned serial killer viewed the world the same way.

She wouldn't be surprised if this was Red Johns' plot all along, dangle the carrot and sit back and watch as Jane twists and turns into a demon himself. This was probably his plan, have Jane fall for his girl, let her plant the seeds and watch as Jane becomes less of the man he was and more of the monster Red John wants him to be.

If you break rules enough then you will eventually no longer live by them, rather you'll see yourself as above them, above laws and morals, a God amongst mere mortals.

She had expected so much more emotion from him on seeing Lorelei's corpse. Tears, despair, grief, something, anything would have sufficed. His whispered apology gave her hope only to be dashed by his next utterance.

His words were a sliver of ice piercing her skin, travelling to her heart and spreading its death. He had feelings for Lorelei, he admitted it. Yet when she stopped being advantageous, stopped being needed, stopped obeying him, he figured she got what she deserved.

Was his apology not for failing her but for using her as a pawn?

She saw more than the passing physical resemblance in the woman as she lay there. Lorelei was slain by a man she once believed in, and loved, a man whom she had trusted and ultimately died because she believed she could protect herself from his reach.

Jane trusts her, cares for her but what if she stopped being beneficial to his cause, or if she halted her efforts to aid him.

What if she was no longer valuable to his hunt and Red John marred her skin with her life's blood, simply casting her away amongst all the broken toys in a back alleyway, naked and alone. Would he feel the same as he did with Lorelei?

She knew that's why she stood here too afraid to sleep. That the creeping reality she was desperately trying to ignore was if she was no longer useful, then she would be dead to him too.