Author's Note: This is another short one-shot for seewhatsinyourheart, who sent me another brilliant prompt earlier! Details of said prompt are at the end to avoid spoiling the story ;) Apologies for the weird POV, but I found it worked better for this particular piece!

Warnings: Some violent imagery within

Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated :)

The bitter wind follows him inside as he enters the dilapidated building, the frozen rain causing a shiver to run down his spine. If he didn't know better, Jane thinks he could be in a horror movie. In spite of the situation he currently finds himself in, he laughs quietly to himself; his life for a majority of the last 9 years has been nothing but a horror movie, and he has been cast as the reluctant star.

He wanders carefully through the corridors, avoiding dripping pipes and broken doors, listening, watching, hoping that he will be able to hear something, anything, that will lead him to his target. The dreary dark walls feel like they're crushing him, but he takes a deep breath of the stale air and continues on, determined to finish this once and for all.

He reaches into his pocket, searching for the paper that both terrifies him and gives him a slight sense of hope. He has memorized the words but the note gives him a feeling of comfort as he picks his way around discarded boxes that litter his route through the abandoned corridors. The message had been explicit in its content and demands and Jane has played this game long enough to know that he must follow it to the letter.

It is time Mr Jane...

He breathes slowly, straining his ears to hear something. There is a soft clanging in the distance, but judging by the squawks it's merely birds nesting in the rafters of the old warehouse. There is nothing to indicate that anyone else resides within the quiet building. Jane finds the knowledge unnerving.

I have been patient enough…

His shoes make little sound on the concrete as he walks, but Jane supposes that he is being watched regardless of how quietly he moves through the building. It is the main reason why he didn't ask anyone to follow him, to give him some backup. He needs to do this alone. It is his right.

Come alone…

His clothes are still wet from the rain outside, but his knows that the dampness he feels running down his back is from his own anxiety. The panic is starting to seep into his bones and the cold sweat tickles as it runs down his spine. He shakes his head, the remaining raindrops in his hair splattering against the corridor walls like blood. He does not give them a second glance through fear that he will be surrounded by red.

Come alone and maybe you can see your precious Agent Lisbon before she dies…

He hears it then. A scream, a howl of pain in the distance. He knows then that it is her and suddenly he does not have enough time. He focuses then, trying to locate her. He is running on instinct now...Where is she, where is she?

He can hear something, loud and obtrusive in his brain. It is her, shouting. Shouting his name. Jane feels relieved that she knows he is here. He is not far away; he will rescue her and kill the monster that has tormented him for so long.

"Jane! Turn back. Please! It's a trap, save yourself! I…I love you!"

His heart tenses at the last three words. She has never spoken them out loud to him, has never let her feelings be so apparent. He smiles despite himself. She loves him, and he loves her and as soon as they are out of here he will show her how much she really means to him.

A piercing scream rips through the air and Jane stutters to a halt, his brief moment of happiness shattered. Where is it coming from? He remembers the note, knows that the monster is planning to kill her, to take away the only thing that really matters to him anymore. He knows he won't, can't, let that happen.

Suddenly, he spots a door at the end of the long corridor, a white note taped to the metal. Jane knows then that this is where she is, his light, his salvation. Now all he has to do is fight the devil to save her.

He hears another scream, louder this time, and he races to the door. He glances briefly at the note taped there, but it is nothing but the signature of his demons. It is not worth remembering, it is already ingrained in his psyche for all of time.

He can feel the gun he stole from her car in the small of his back, and he feels like a small town thug. He knows she will be pissed at him, but he doesn't care. They can talk about it later, after all of this is done. He is going to save her and damn the consequences. He realises he can no longer hear her, but he doesn't worry, she is alive and he has arrived in time.

He reaches out and puts his hand on the door, the cool metal jolting him from his thoughts. He slowly draws a breath as he pushes slightly, the groaning of the hinges echoing through the stillness of the room. He slips the gun from its hiding spot and holds it out in front of him. He takes more precious air into his lungs, and ducks through the door. It is time.

He chokes as he walks through the door, the breath leaving him, the gun falling hopelessly to the floor in an instant. He has been here before, and it cannot be real, cannot be true. But the smiley face leers at him, sadistic and malevolent across the room and he cannot breath, the air like fire in his lungs.

Her body is still, bloody, laid out carefully across the soft mattress against the wall. But still her screams ring out through the warehouse and Jane feels the cold of the air like a punch in the gut. He notes a large TV screen sat next to the mattress and her face fills it, terror etched across her features. Jane doesn't know what to look at; her body or her ghost.

He finds that he cannot take his gaze away from the mattress, lying against the dark wall. He sees the tv screen flicker again out of the corner of his eye, the video seemingly on a loop, her last pleas and cries doomed to repeat themselves.

"Jane! Turn back. Please! It's a trap, save yourself! I…I love you!"

A scream.

There is a pause, another, more horrific scream and a longer pause before the video starts again. This time he tears his gaze from her body to the screen. He is frozen, watching her face. He can see she is…was…tied to a chair, a knife to her throat and a masked monster behind her. She is pleading for him, her last act one of defiance and love for him. Jane feels like he is losing his breath, losing his sanity…

"Jane! Turn back. Please! It's a trap, save yourself! I…I love you!"

A scream as the devil twists her arm to hold her still. Another as the knife nicks her soft pale skin.

The video starts again…

"Jane! Turn back…"

He can no longer stand the pleading in her voice, the screams that the monster wrenches from her; Jane lunges at the screen and shoves it to the floor, the anger flowing through him. The crash of the impact is loud but he is momentarily grateful for the ensuing silence. He knows the echoes of her screams will haunt him in his dreams. He feels sick, nausea spreading through his stomach, bile threatening to run up his throat.

He refuses to believe what has happened, what he has just seen and he edges closer to the mattress, hoping that it has all been some terrible mistake. Jane knows in his heart it is not.

One step. Two. Three. Each one hurts as he accepts that this is not how it should have all played out, no one should have died but him.

Eventually he stands by her, and he knows now, accepts that it is her. Lisbon. His Lisbon. Laid out on the bed as if asleep, nothing to show that she is gone apart from the cuts and blood that cover her. She is wrapped in a sheet, her modesty covered in death as it had been in life. His hand tremors and vision blurs as he reaches out, almost too scared to touch her. It cannot be real, surely.

There is a lock of hair covering her face and he leans over to smooth it away, and feels the cold of her skin. She has been gone for hours, and Jane knows then that he has been played again, he never had a chance to save her.

He knows that he cannot recover from this. He doesn't think he wants to. He feels the tears as they trail down his face and he knows that he is broken...

He collapses into unconsciousness, her name on his lips..."Lisbon".

He wakes infuriatingly slowly, as if his subconscious is fighting to keep him from facing his brutal new reality. He can hear movement, but he doesn't know from where and he feels like he is drowning, he cannot breathe, cannot process a single thought apart from "she's dead, she's dead, she's dead."

His eyes open and he expects to see the grey walls of the warehouse and the violent red of her blood painted across it. What he sees instead is white fabric and he realises he is lying on a couch, her couch, rather than the cold concrete of a warehouse floor.

He is curled up, facing the back of the comforting piece of furniture, and as Jane takes in a shaky breath he realises that he can feel dampness on his cheek. He carefully moves a hand to wipe away the tears that trace a pattern down his face. He can sense the cold sweat down his spine and without warning his shirt and vest feel uncomfortable, as if they are choking him. He suddenly has the need to see if she is there or if he is stuck in the reality of the terrifying abandoned building. He turns himself quickly, swinging his legs round to sit up. He moves too fast and his brain struggles to keep up with his actions and he feels dizzy.

His movements attract the attention of the person sat across the room, her head bent over her desk. She looks up and Jane feels a wave of elation run through him. Alive! She is alive!

She smiles at him as his gaze fixes on her while she sits behind her desk. She is watching him carefully and he vaguely hears her ask if he is ok. He tries to nod and attempts to flash her a reassuring smile but he can tell from her concerned look that he hasn't been overly successful. But, despite how he feels, he is ok, because she is here. Alive…

And suddenly the relief and tension and fear and utter panic just flow through him all at once and he is shaking violently, struggling to catch his breath. Jane tries to hide it, does not want her to see him like this. He does not want to be the source of more worry for her, she has enough on her mind without having to query his sanity. He is a master of biofeedback, he is always in control and he knows this, but he is so open to her at that moment that she recognises the signs of distress on his face as soon as she looks at him.

She immediately rushes round the desk to stand in front of him, asking him what is wrong. He cannot answer, just reaches out to grab her wrist, using the motion to both pull her closer and feel her pulse. The comforting rhythm of her heart reassures him that she is alive and safe and here. He rests his forehead on her stomach and closes his eyes, counting the beats as they throb against his warm fingers…one, two, three, four... but he can't concentrate for long, because as his eyes stay closed all he can see is her, bloody and broken on a foam mattress in a dank, dirty room. He feels the terror rise again and he does not know if he can ever stop this fear from overwhelming him.

She looks down at him and she clearly realises he is close to breaking down, because she calmly sits down beside him on the couch and grabs both his hands, telling him forcefully that he needs to look at her. Her voice floats through his brain, but it seems all he can hear is her screams. He blinks, once, twice, and urges himself to look at her. She is real; her hands warm on his and her eyes are dark with concern. Lisbon doesn't demand anything of him, knows instinctively that he is not playing some childish game for attention; she just asks him to focus on her and reassures him with calming words that everything is ok, that he is safe, she is safe and no one can hurt them. He can feel his pulse racing, but he's not sure if it's down to his panic or the feel of her thumbs stroking his wrists. He still can't catch his breath.

He can hear Lisbon tell him to breathe…in…out…in…out...and soon he feels calmer, his pulse settling and his brain able to focus on his surroundings. The visions from his dream drift off into his subconscious and he focuses solely on her. His head clears and the dread subsides, leaving only the clarity of his situation and the sight of her. He wants to thank her, tell her his secrets and his fears, but his throat is dry and sore and he winces at the pain when he swallows. Lisbon seems to sense his discomfort and stands quietly, releasing his hands. He misses the contact immediately.

He watches as Lisbon walks out to the kitchen and comes back moments later. She takes a seat next to him on the couch, a glass of water in her hands. He reaches out to take it but he realises that he is still trembling and he knows he will drop the precious liquid if he tries to take it by himself. She seems to realise this and softly places her hand over his, helping him grip the cool glass and raise it to his lips, watching him carefully as he takes the first, blissful sip of liquid. It runs, cool and refreshing, down his throat and he smiles at the feel of it. He lowers his hand slowly, and she takes her own away, obviously confident that he is calm enough to help himself.

He doesn't look at her, just watches his knuckles turn white as he grips the glass and he suddenly feels foolish for his panic attack. She doesn't seem to mind though, and instead of leaving him alone to wallow in self-pity, she rests a hand on his back and rubs gently, drawing circles as she whispers soothing words in his ear. He can feel his heart rate slowing and he feels calmer. He shuts his eyes to concentrate on the sensation. He finishes the water slowly, and Lisbon takes the empty glass from him, placing it on the small table to be dealt with later.

He knows he is being irrational, but somewhere in his subconscious his brain tells him that he needs to be careful, that his nightmare could one day become a reality. He promises himself, there and then, that he will do everything in his power to protect her. She is, he realises, more important than anything, more important than revenge or anger or hate. She is his redemption.

They sit quietly on the couch for what seems like hours, and Jane watches the second hand tick slowly on the clock on her wall. He feels himself getting sleepy again, the adrenaline and panic having ebbed away, leaving him cold and tired and relieved.

It is late, everyone has gone home, so when Lisbon shifts slightly on the couch and pulls his head into her lap no one bears witness to the intimate action. One of Lisbon's hands drift into his hair, stroking it softly, while the other idly traces patterns on his shoulders. Jane feels himself drifting into unconsciousness again, but this time his dreams are of more pleasant things.

A/N 2.0: Ha! Hopefully fooled some of you there for a minute! The main prompt was: "A fic where Jane has a nightmare whilst he's napping in Lisbon's office and he is emotional when he wakes up but tries really hard to hide it! and Lisbon is all like getting him a glass of water and calming him down."
I couldn't help add some angst and stuff in there, cos, you know, it's always fun to mix stuff up a bit!