The CBI bullpen was buzzing with tense energy. Word had already spread through the floor: Patrick Jane had been pulled out of a flooded basement, revived at the hospital, and was suffering from total retrograde amnesia. He didn't remember the CBI, he didn't remember Red John... and he didn't remember any of you.

Wayne Rigsby leaned against the side of Grace Van Pelt’s desk, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief. “I still don't get it. How can someone just forget ten years of their life like that? Is it permanent?"

Grace looked up from her computer screen, her expression full of concern. “The doctor said it's a psychogenic fugue caused by near-drowning. His brain is blocking out traumatic memories. To him... he's still a 30-year-old hotshot psychic medium."

Kimball Cho stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, his face completely deadpan as usual. “It means he doesn't remember any of us. And he definitely doesn't remember how to do his job."

"Just be prepared," Rigsby added, turning his head toward you with a sympathetic cringe. “Before this happened, Jane spent half his day coming up with new ways to drive you crazy. Now? Who knows what he's going to act like."

The glass doors of the bullpen slid open, and Teresa Lisbon walked in, looking thoroughly exhausted and stressed out. Trailing right behind her was Patrick Jane. He didn't look like the usual quiet, tea-sipping consultant. His vest was unbuttoned, his collar was slightly open, and he had a bright, dazzling, almost wicked smirk on his face. He was looking around the office as if he were visiting a museum.

"Alright, everyone," Lisbon sighed loudly, rubbing her temples. “As you know, Jane had an... incident. He's fine physically, but he doesn't remember the station, the cases, or any of-…Jane, stop wandering off!"

Jane completely ignored Lisbon. His eyes swept across the room, completely passing over Cho and Rigsby, until they landed directly on you. His face instantly lit up. The arrogant, playful smirk broadened into a genuinely mesmerized smile. Without a second thought, he bypassed Lisbon, stepped right past Cho, and walked straight over to your desk. He didn't keep a respectful distance at all, as he leaned casually over your desk, placing his hands right near yours, coming so close you could smell the faint hospital soap and clean linen on him.

"Well, hello there," Jane said softly, his voice dropping into a smooth, velvety tone. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked you up and down, completely lacking the usual sarcastic boundary-pushing you had spent years enduring.

"Lisbon told me I work here, which I found hard to believe..." Jane continued, reaching out with zero hesitation to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek. “But if I get to come in every morning and see a face like yours... I think I might just stay."

Lisbon snapped her head around, her eyes widening in sheer shock. “Jane! What are you doing?! Hands off!"

Rigsby's jaw dropped. “Is he... is he hitting on her?"

Cho didn't even blink, though his eyebrows twitched slightly. “Definitely hitting on her."

Jane didn't move an inch away from you. He simply tilted his head, giving you a warm, hopelessly charming smile, totally oblivious to the fact that just yesterday you wanted to throw a stapler at his head.

"Don't mind them, darling," Jane whispered to you with a wink, leaning in just a fraction closer. “Tell me... what's your name? And more importantly, why haven't I taken you out to dinner yet?"