Wow, it's been forever. I can't say I'll be back to writing again, though I really, really hope I can. I haven't really even been able to read any Mentalist works—except for the ones that alert my email and even then not always. I've missed this community so much! But, anyway, I definitely want to finish this collection up. This is actually one of the songs on the album that struck me right away as being perfect for Jane/Lisbon. Unfortunately, their relationship is rather unbalanced and though Jane brings something to Lisbon's life I think she undoubtedly gives him much more.

Hope you enjoy!

Hamburg Song

Teresa Lisbon lay in the dark, her breath quick and rasping—the only sound splitting the silence of the night. Her ears strained, trying to hear something, anything, beyond the small room, beyond the flimsy wooden door.

She knew exactly how flimsy the doors in this house were. Images of splintered wood played against her eyelids. For a moment the sounds of her brothers crying seemed to invade the night. She took a deep, gasping breath and opened her eyes. It was silent. The cries weren't real. Not tonight.

She held her eyes wide, welcoming the darkness in which she lay, trying to keep out memories of shattered doors and pounding fists away.

She caught sight of a pattern of light in the far corner. There must be a crack in the curtains that was letting in the streetlight's glow. Her gaze fastened on it. Her hand crept up to her neck and grasped the small cross that was ever-present. That had been ever-present since…

She bit her lip as a vision of dark hair and laughter danced across her memory…

No!

She had to focus. She couldn't afford—her brothers couldn't afford—for her mind to wander. But as she listened to the quietness of the house, her body started to relax. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he'd sleep it off somewhere else tonight.

And this time it was a tall man with sparkling green eyes and a wicked, but tender smile that crept into her mind. It was almost more cruel. To seemingly have something, but to know that really it—he—was lost. Forever. Because she couldn't be what he needed. Because she couldn't save her. Much as she wanted to. Because she couldn't save him.

Teresa remembered the countless times they had gone to mass. Genuflected before entering the pew. Greeted their neighbors, friends, with smiles and chattering conversation. Felt the affectionate, paternal ruffle of Father's hand in her hair. The gentle grasp of Dad's hand while they all said the Lord's Prayer.

The many times her mother had sat silently after Mass, kneeling in the pew, hands clasped and head bowed. Intent. So intent. Cross necklace glinting in the soft, filtered light that streamed through the stained glass windows of the traditional cathedral.

Teresa could still remember the soft smile as her mother finished and stood. The words she would sometimes utter as they left the quiet, hopeful sanctity of the church. "This is home. Much as we—our family—are each other's home. And there will always be light for us here."

Unbidden, tears filled her eyes at the memory, blurring the pattern of light that was sprinkled on the darkness of her bedroom walls.

They never went to Mass anymore. Her father didn't believe in God.

Didn't believe in light.

Didn't seem to believe in family anymore, actually.

Her hand tightened and the cross pressed into her palm, imprinting its shape on her skin. She believed.

She thought she did, at least. She wanted to. She now knew what ugliness the world held—metal screeching against metal; the deafening noise that followed; blood as red and deep as Communion wine mingling with those beautiful dark tresses; stark white walls as her brothers clung to her crying for their mother; the soft thud of dirt against a coffin; the sharp stench of alcohol and angry yelled words; the horror of Violence as it invaded their home, a companion to Grief—and still…still, she wanted light. Family. Home.

So Teresa clung to the cross in the darkness of night to try to find it for herself (as her mother had) and during every other moment she worked hard to be that for her brothers.

She was never sure if it worked, but it wasn't from lack of trying…

Years later

Teresa Lisbon shut her front door, dumped her mail and keys on a small table already overflowing, kicked off her shoes, and headed for her kitchen. She stood in the doorway staring alternatively at her fridge and her stove. She sighed. She was too tired to cook. Actually, maybe too tired to eat.

She flipped the light off and went straight to her bedroom. Work clothes dropped haphazardly in the laundry basket, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in the connecting bathroom before falling into her bed to burrow in soft sheets and the deep darkness of night. She tried not to think about the day she had just had. Instead, she let her mind drift to happier moments. It was disconcerting how many of those moments included a certain blond haired, blue-eyed bedeviling consultant.

She sighed into her pillow. Not as disconcerting as it may have once been. Lisbon was not stupid. Nor did she believe in lying to herself…well, not too much and not for too long.

And she had been working with Patrick Jane for far too long. Too long to lie to herself about her feelings toward him. In a happier time, a more carefree time, he would be what her mother would call home.

It didn't surprise her that her so-called home was a broken one. After all, she supposed she gravitated to what she knew.

As she had with her brothers, all she wanted was to help him, protect him, bring him light, happiness. Home. She admitted to herself, there in the dark of her bedroom under the covers, that she wanted to be home to him. She couldn't stop herself from being honest enough to also admit that there was no way he'd ever find a home again. Not if he could help it.

But she knew he yearned for it. She could see it in the way he interacted with kids. His carefree enjoyment of the frivolities of life. The way he protected those he unwillingly cared for—the team, even herself.

She knew she was stupid to want to help him. To want to help herself. To want…more. But it seems it was a stupidity from her childhood that she had never outgrown. All the ugliness of the world—it had only increased with time; bodies at crime scenes; people turning viciously on their loved ones for the stupidest reasons: greed, money; thoughtless moments of violent impulse, ending lives through death or crushing guilt; broken people; vengeance—hadn't crushed her hope.

So she gave. Even when she swore she wouldn't—"…if you try and do violence to him, I will try and stop you"—with every moment she spent with Jane, she gave a little more. Until she was afraid that she had given all that was good in her to him. She wasn't sure she would stop him. She wasn't sure that she could hold to her morals and her sense of what was right.

If Jane tried to kill Red John—if he did kill Red John—she certainly wouldn't help him. At least she didn't think she would. But she didn't even know if she could make herself be angry with him for it.

Lisbon kept her eyes closed, resisting the urge to open them and ignore the many images playing across the back of her eyelids. Scene after scene of Jane. Happy, angry, broken. Vengeful.

God, didn't he know he was hurting himself? Keeping himself from fully grieving, from moving on? Didn't he know that she gave him so much and he kept taking? Kept being the person who drew her in. Giving her glimpses of a man so complex, so shattered that she just wanted to run away, reminded of herself and her own shattered past. And how hard she had worked to overcome it. She was sure he would only drag her down.

And then it would happen. She'd see another man. She'd catch a glimpse of his quiet contemplation. So like that stillness in her mother at church. She'd see Jane's kindness to someone in need. His ability to enjoy the moment. To bring happiness to others.

Sometimes it made something inside her break. She wondered how she could fall for someone even as he made her feel like a twelve year old girl again, grieving in the dark for someone who would never come back.

She only hoped history wasn't doomed to repeat itself. She feared it was.

Hamburg Song

I don't wanna be adored
Don't wanna be first in line
Or make myself heard
I'd like to bring a little light
To shine a light on your life
To make you feel loved

No, don't wanna be the only one you know
I wanna be the place you call home

I lay myself down
To make it so, but you don't want to know
I give much more
Than I'd ever ask for

Will you see me in the end
Or is it just a waste of time
Trying to be your friend
Just shine, shine, shine
Shine a little light
Shine a light on my life
Warm me up again

Fool, I wonder if you know yourself at all
You know that it could be so simple

I lay myself down
To make it so, but you don't want to know
You take much more
Than I'd ever ask for

Say a word or two to brighten my day
Do you think that you could see your way

To lay yourself down
And make it so, but you don't want to know
You take much more
Than I'd ever ask for