A/n Hello, here is a new multi-chapter fic! It is a season six au about the aftermath of Lisbon killing Red John and how Jane deals with that, but also the effect it has on their relationship. She decides that she needs to get away, go back to Chicago, during the dismantling of the CBI and he agrees to go with her despite feeling upset.

I've read a few road trip fics lately and have enjoyed them so much I thought that I would write one myself just with a different theme. I hope people enjoy this one! :)

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Coast To Coast

It has been a long time since life has properly been alright. Lisbon would have to look back to before he disappeared for six months in Las Vegas to a time where she has allowed herself to completely relax and not worry about the consequences of that. Since then, things have been crazy and increasingly so the more erratic Jane has become. It is like he isn't the same person who left her, upset and worried in Sacramento. She knows that some of that is because of his failure in his mission and what he had to do to get there but she has missed the old Jane, her troublesome consultant, the one who would stick his nose where it wasn't wanted and cause her headaches not the one who begun to avoid doing his job and would remain locked up in his attic space, obsessing. The end though was in sight, they could all sense it, she just wasn't expecting him to be so disgruntled that she finished the job for him.

They are in her car driving towards the border between California and Nevada, a deathly silence having become a permanent element of the atmosphere within the vehicle. The tension is not only palpable but is almost deplorable, especially after everything they've been through together. She glances to her side to see him gazing out of the window, a frown ingrained into his features. It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention back on the road – there has been so much bloodshed over the past few weeks, there doesn't need to be anymore by her accidentally veering into oncoming traffic. "Are you ever going to talk to me again?" It is kind of ironic that she's wanted his silence so many times and now she doesn't want it, she needs him to say what is so clearly on his mind.

"Of course I am. I'm not a child." He snaps, which is out of character but then again, he has been permanently out of character as of late. "I just..." He releases a drawn-out sigh. "I just need time."

"Okay." She would be lying if she said his attitude doesn't annoy her, he has got what he wanted after all with Red John now being dead, it was never her plan to be the one to rid the world of a serial killer in this manner. She wanted to catch him, arrest him, watch him stand trial before being locked away indefinitely, but something switched within her and suddenly the need of vengeance took over. Jane's vengeance. The same vengeance that has troubled her for years. "We will have a pit stop soon." She decides, feeling like she could do with a coffee, and he simply hums in response.

Deciding to make the drive coast to coast from Sacramento to Chicago is almost mad. It is a long way, over two thousand miles, and will take days, but there is nothing else to do. The CBI is no more, she and her team have been relieved of their duties and during an unsettling time it seems natural to go home. She needs to get away and recharge, ready for a tough period of interrogations and investigations and she wasn't going to leave him there, moping about, even if he is displeased with her.

They've been on the road for less than two hours, but her patience is already wearing thin and her loose attention drifting, they are still a long way from their motel tonight in West Wendover. "Why are we driving? Why didn't we fly?" It is like he has read her mind, however, like he has told her too many times, that is not a power he possesses and nor does anyone else.

"I need the time to think." She grunts in response more at herself than anyone else. This may have been her reasoning before they set off, but now, only a couple of hours into their long trek, she is starting to regret her decision. Hopefully he will offer to do some of the driving once he has simmered down a bit. "And we need time for you to get over what happened so we can talk properly." Although it may take longer than four days of driving for him to even consider forgiving her, but that's something she is slowly coming to terms with. He has barely uttered a syllable to her over the past few days, what's another ninety-six hours... or a week...?

This may be something she is coming to terms with, but the recent events certainly are not, and his quietness just means she has the opportunity to stew. Three days ago, she killed Thomas McAllister. Two days ago, she exposed Bertram, unearthed The Blake Association, and alerted the FBI to its existence, and yesterday she met the stern but competent Agent Abbott who she and her team were interviewed by. So much has happened that it is almost like it hasn't been real, like she has entered a dissociative state and it is going to be some task to get out of it.

He watches her intently, the anguish flash across her face before her expression becomes spaced which is fortunate because he is able to swiftly catch the wheel when she phases out. The sudden movement and the honking of horns pulls her quickly out of her trance-like state. She is embarrassed when she peers towards him and it's the first time over the past few days that he hasn't looked at her with sheer dislike but instead obvious concern. Albeit it is brief. "Sorry." She mutters, focusing back on the road. "I need coffee."

"What you need is to talk."

"Yes, but I don't think there is anyone who wants to listen to me." She feels massively unpopular right now, not just with him but with everyone on the team. Although they know she was right to act on the corruption information, they've still all lost their livelihoods and are – despite her best efforts to persuade otherwise – under investigation. They won't be able to move on until it is all wrapped up.

"Lisbon." He dejectedly exhales, knowing that despite his unhappiness with her, he doesn't want her to be sad or tormented. "I will get over this, I will. It is just going to take time getting my head around it." He solemnly admits. "Even so, if you want to talk then please talk."

"What's there to say?" She huffs, suddenly becoming all defensive even though she's not got any reason to be. "I killed Red John. I forgot all about my morals and everything I've said to you for years about it being wrong. Worst of all I've disappointed you in the process." Lisbon didn't think she could ever disappoint him. It is generally the other way around, but she has managed to, even though in that moment she believed that she was doing the right thing. Now, she isn't so sure. "I've been trying to tell myself that if I hadn't then he would have killed me, but he was incapacitated. I could have called for assistance."

"And it may have not come." He reasons. "The corruption in Californian law enforcement evidently runs deep." It is frustrating that it has been happening all around them, but they've all failed to notice. They are meant to be detectives. "Plus, that man deserved to die."

"Maybe." She doesn't want to agree with him, it would seem wrong to condone any sort of transgression as a cop. "I feel like I should apologise for taking the moment away from you, but if you had done it then you would be in handcuffs by now." It wouldn't be the first time that she has seen him being marched to jail, each time she hoped, prayed, that it would be the last. Maybe, now that this is truly over, it won't happen again.

"No. If I had done it, I would be on the run." He replies without skipping a beat like he doesn't have to think about his response, it is what he had planned, but this isn't the only thing that strikes her. He doesn't disagree with her; Jane thinks he does deserve an apology... but he isn't going to get it.

"Really?"

"Apparently Venezuela is lovely this time of year and has those sweet extradition laws."

"Don't talk crazy."

"I'm serious." And she can tell that this is the truth.

Another silence falls between them as she processes all that has been said in the past few minutes as they trundle along interstate eighty, signage indicating the imminence of the border littered at the roadside. "I think I preferred it when we weren't talking." She murmurs, keeping her eyes straight ahead, not even wanting to look at him. She's a ball of anxiety and he's the cause of that once again.

"As you wish."

Lisbon didn't think anything could be worse than that night, but it turns out this, his frostiness, is much worse. After an argument in the Salton Sea State Recreation Area that had her driving off, leaving him chasing the vehicle ashamed about his outburst to her, she was happy to respond to an anonymous tip about a state officer in danger. However, she wasn't expecting the lack of assistance on the eerily still night and her curiosity about a noise from inside the property got the better of her and she went in, alone. Her heart was pounding, increasing in tempo as her mouth became dry and gradually her movements turned skittish. Finding Brett Partridge, bleeding out, frightened and vulnerable was sickening, but there was nothing she could do to help him and as his life slipped away her thoughts turned to the man who put him there.

Red John is here. She interrupted him mid ritual that's why Partridge was still alive, but this means that she is most likely here with him. If it wasn't the ghoulish coroner who is the notorious serial killer, then who is? Her mind starts grabbing at the memories of the consultant's list of suspects as her body darts around, trying to locate one of the six other men who could be in this house with her, ready to strike.

The slight creak of a floorboard and she whips around, aimlessly firing a shot towards the noise, but she is pleased (although a little perturbed) by the sound of the bullet ripping through flesh and the grunt of her suspect who tumbles backwards, sliding down the wall, gripping the wound to his arm tightly. In the chaos, he also dropped his knife with a clatter and quick flash of her torch towards the object shows the blood of his latest victim coating the blade. There is no time to focus on that though, she quickly realises, before shining the beam of light towards the bleeding man who she swiftly recognises as Sheriff Thomas McAllister. Her stomach drops at the sight of him, a nauseating feeling washing over her and for a second, she thinks her legs are going to give way before she manages to find some poise.

Jane was right. He was on his list of suspects and of all the people on that list, she didn't think it would be him. He was creepy, sure, she remembers that from their case some years ago involving a psychotic husband and wife who ran a restaurant in Napa, but the others all had... qualities to suggest serial killer ways. Not this guy. Bret Stiles runs a cult that has been responsible of multiple deaths but none of which could be proven, showing not only his intelligence but his scheming mind. Gale Bertram is cold with not a shred of empathy and also has more power than most could fully understand. Ray Haffner, there was always something off about him and he has a dead eye stare that since she has noticed it, has made her shiver. Reede Smith, an asshole with reach. Bob Kirkland seems to know all and doesn't mind creeping others out, and he appears to have a special interest in the mentalist.

And then there is Partridge, who is now dead on the floor. "You." Lisbon eventually murmurs, keeping her weapon steadily pointed towards him. "It was you." It being the gruesome murders of countless individuals, including her consultant's, her partner's, her best friend's wife, and innocent child. The anger she is experiencing in this period of time is like nothing she has felt before. She is disgusted, more than disgusted, repulsed, that someone could cause so much death and so much pain.

It is as if none of this was completely real before now, like the person responsible for these horrors was a work of fiction, a villain in a movie, but no this is real. People have died, many people have been overwrought with grief. "I need help." McAllister feebly moans, his hand gripping his bloody arm tighter. "My arm."

"No." She finds herself stating with a shake of her head that is so tiny that she doubts he has been able to perceive it, especially in the dark.

"You aren't going to let me die, Agent Lisbon." Realistically, it is highly unlikely that he will die from this particular gunshot wound. It would take time, but she doesn't think she has the patience for this. Worrying still, she wants it all over even quicker and that's a terrifying thought to have popped into her head. "This is about Patrick, isn't it? I knew you were soft on him."

"Why did you do this?" She asks with a sense of urgency, wanting to push past his suggestive comment and more importantly needing some sort of answer for why he has committed so many atrocities. The man just starts to smile a wicked grin, one that will certainly haunt her nightmares for the foreseeable future. "What did Partridge do?"

"He became a liability."

"He knew you were Red John?" This doesn't make sense to her because in all his macabre weirdness, she doubts if he knew who Red John was that he would keep it to himself. Even if it is only because he would want to take all the credit for his demise.

"No." He affirms. "But he knew about the corrupt institution here in California which could potentially help you guys identify me."

"There's a gas station just over the border." Jane breaks through her thoughts that she manages to shake away, not wanting to dwell too much on the past few days. Not yet. They haven't even made it out of California. He is right of course and as soon as she parks up outside the gas station he is out of her car and into the building. She muses that it is the quickest she has ever seen him move and the notion almost makes her smile, almost. Perhaps, on a normal day, it would.

There is something so depressing about highway gas stations. She isn't sure if it is the lone truck drivers, the begrudging workers, or the general air of exhaustion that long travel brings but she has always struggled to find the charm in them, even during trips of leisure. After popping to use the filthy bathroom whilst wondering if they let actual animals use them or if maybe they haven't been cleaned for months, she starts to scour the store's aisles for snacks. They still have about six hours on the road today and she doubts a coffee will be sufficient fuel until their next rest stop. The more she thinks about it, the more she regrets choosing to drive her car across the country instead of an easy four-hour flight. That's without it dawning on her that not only is she eventually going to have to make the drive back but also electing on taking the trip in the first place could be a waste of time. Even though Chicago is where she grew up, she hardly had the greatest upbringing. Still, Stan will be pleased to see her, is what she tells herself.

He watches her pay for her items – including a much-needed coffee – as he waits, leant against the bonnet of her car. He wants to relax, he wants to not be irate with her but right now, he cannot help it. It is the anti-climax of it all. He has worked tirelessly for the best part of a decade, trying to catch and kill the man who massacred his wife and child. It was getting close, he knew it, he only had seven suspects left out of the seven and a half billion people in this world, and he was dreaming of the day to finally watch the man who has caused him monumental pain die at his own hands. It would have made a nice change of pace to the nightmares which regularly plague his sleep.

It was meant to be him who killed Red John, not Lisbon, and currently that's what is consuming his mind. It is all that matters. He knows this feeling will pass; she matters too much to him for him to remain pissed off forever, but it is going to take time. Time to process and time for it all to really sink in, for it to sink in that the serial killer has now gone. Finally.

"Jane!" Cho's unusually urgent yet elated tone interrupts his tea making. He has been running through repeatedly in his head the argument he had with his partner, who is now nowhere to be seen. Probably gone home, reeling about his rudeness and the much hurt he has caused her recently, the thought makes his heart ache. "We've got to go."

"Where?" He questions, obviously deflated and he isn't sure much could pick him up off the floor.

For a second, his friend doesn't answer him, and it makes him shift his attention away from his mug of boiling water changing colour to a deep amber and to the man stood at his side who has his mouth slightly open as if he is trying to get the words out, but even he cannot believe what he has just heard. "Lisbon got him." He finally utters, making the consultant cock his head to one side in confusion. "She killed Sheriff Thomas McAllister." He suddenly feels faint, and he has to grip the countertop in preparation for his next statement. "He was Red John."

It was… inexplicable, finding out that not only one of his seven suspects was in fact the serial killer but also that he was gone. Dead… and he wasn't the one who did the deed like he needed to. He felt… out of it, as they made the journey to the crime scene where the brunette was sat on the porch of the property, staring at her hands as two body bags were carried out on stretchers – McAllister's and Partridge's. Even after what Cho said, he couldn't quite believe what had happened, not until he saw the scene for himself.

Their eyes met – his and Lisbon's – from a short distance away and he saw the anguish in hers whilst she saw the clear animosity in his. He didn't attempt to get any closer to her or communicate, he just hung back, listening to the chatter from his colleagues, trying to process that his revenge mission is over.

The sound of the car unlocking makes him snap out of it, and without looking at her he gets back into the car wordlessly. She was expecting a little hostility on his part, but this seems excessive, and she considers why he would agree to come with her on this long journey to a place he has no reason to be if he really hates her so much. It must mean that deep down he doesn't really, this is what she hopes anyway.

With a heavy sigh, she pulls open her car door skilfully with one hand whilst juggling her coffee and two packets of snacks in the other. Usually, he would try and aid her even if she told him no, now he has settled back in the passenger's seat with no such attempt. It is painful, and even though all this was her idea, she is definitely starting to regret it.

They are still over one thousand and nine hundred miles away from Chicago.