Chapter 1

"Some things are impossible to escape!"

Given their situation, the double meaning wasn't lost on either of them.

"Jane…we're gonna get out of here," Lisbon said quietly.

"Yes," Jane sighed, forcing himself to put on a show of optimism despite the fatigue that was threatening to overtake him. "It's only a matter of time before the team finds us. You never know – maybe we'll still be alive. But we're not going to escape."

"But that wasn't really what you meant," Lisbon stated in the same calm voice. Rarely had she seen Jane so distressed about something that didn't relate to Red John. Then again, for him, everything related to Red John.

Jane looked away, embarrassed that he had shown such vulnerability. He figured the lack of food and water must be getting to him, because he was having trouble remembering how he let their conversation take such a personal turn in the first place.

Lisbon groaned as her eyes slowly opened, and she took in the darkened room around her. It looked like a bomb shelter, and seemed to be underground, based on the lack of windows and overhead hatch. Feeling the back of her head, she winced. She had taken quite a blow to the head, and a lump the size of a golf ball was making itself known. Eventually, her eyes met Jane's. He was watching her from behind, though it was so dark that she could just barely make out the shape of his body resting against the wall.

"What?" Lisbon mumbled, confused.

"How's your head?" Jane looked – and sounded – awful; his voice was weak and scratchy, and Lisbon was sure that if she could get a better look at him, she'd see how pale he was.

"Hurts. Damn," Lisbon answered, a bit more aware of her surroundings. She realized that he had taken off his vest and rested it over her, and her head was resting on his crumpled-up jacket.

"Welcome," Jane said wryly.

"This isn't exactly how I expected to find you," Lisbon sighed. "What happened?"

Jane lifted his shirt to reveal two red circles. "I was tasered getting out of my car at the motel. Woke up here. No one has come down – except for when they tossed you in – and the door is locked. I think it has been a couple of days, but I'm not really sure." At those words, his stomach growled.

"When's the last time you ate?" Lisbon asked, not liking how weak he looked. She remembered how involved Jane had been in the case they had been working on – an unidentified girl, about eight years old, had been raped, killed and buried wearing only a letter jacket – and she knew that he probably hadn't eaten much even before he was abducted. She took a moment to be grateful that Cho had forced her to have lunch that day.

"I don't remember," he sighed. Everything was all mixed up in his head, but he really didn't want to be reminded of how hungry and thirsty he was. "How did you get here?"

"We got a trace on your phone, followed it to a house…No one answered the door so I kicked it in. I don't remember anything after that," Lisbon answered. She didn't mention that they had temporarily abandoned the young girl's murder – she knew it would upset him.

"No back-up?" Jane frowned, disappointed.

"I didn't want to wait…Our best guess was that you disappeared sometime Monday evening, and it's Wednesday afternoon…at least, it was at the time."

"You shouldn't have done that, Lisbon. I've told you before, I'm not worth it." The time alone had left Jane plenty of time to brood. With only his thoughts for company, it's no wonder Jane had sunk into a deep depression.

"Dammit, Jane! Yes, you are."

"No. Look at me, Teresa. I have no life. I haven't in a long time. I'm trapped, in limbo, and I'll never be free. I'll always be the arrogant bastard who caused the deaths of his wife and daughter. I don't deserve to be free."

Lisbon stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Her mind was still a bit sluggish, and she had a pounding headache, but his words managed to cut through all of that. For the first time in a long time, she was reminded of just how much Jane was hurting, how much guilt and self-hate and grief he carried around every day.

"You're not trapped, Patrick. Okay? We're gonna get out of here. And then…you can get on with your life. You can stop being in limbo. You can escape all of this."

"I'll never escape," Jane muttered.

"That's a lie," Lisbon insisted. "It's a lie that you've been telling yourself for way too long."

"It's the truth."

"It's a lie that you have convinced yourself is the truth!" Lisbon exclaimed.

Jane laughed harshly, which took up far more of his energy than it should have. "I'm not really in the mood for a philosophical debate, Lisbon…I believe it's true, so for me, it is, no matter what you may think." He sighed. "In another life, if I was a much better person, things might be very different. But I'm not. I'm not that person. I'm not worth saving."

"Whatever happened to 'I'll always save you?'" Lisbon asked gently.

"That's exactly why you shouldn't have risked yourself to find me. You are worth saving, Teresa." Jane was growing visibly frustrated; it was so obvious, so clear to him why she should have turned her back on him, and he couldn't understand why she didn't see it.

Lisbon slowly pushed herself upright, ignoring the intense throbbing in her skull as she did. As soon as she sat up, she wrapped her arms around Jane. "So. Are. You," she told him, slowly and firmly. "Besides, you can't be there to save me if you're dead," she reminded him sarcastically.

Jane sighed, but didn't say anything. He knew that they might die down in that dark hole, and he didn't want to spend that time arguing with her. He didn't have the energy to keep it up, anyways.

"What was your wife like?" Lisbon asked, pulling away so that she was sitting beside him, but they were no longer touching. She felt a bit apprehensive about bringing up a topic that he usually avoided like the plague, but her nervousness was overridden by her determination to convince him that he was worth something.

"She was a much better person than me," Jane said softly.

"Do you talk to her a lot?" She wasn't sure if Jane knew that she had overheard him talking to the young son of a murder victim, telling him that he spoke with his wife, but she hoped he wouldn't be upset.

Jane closed his eyes. "Sometimes."

"What do you talk to her about?"

"Anything."

"Why?"

Jane frowned, and opened his eyes again to search Lisbon's face for clues about her intentions. "What do you mean?"

"You don't believe in any sort of afterlife. You don't believe she is out there somewhere, listening. So why do you talk to her?"

There was a long pause as Jane considered how to respond, how to put the words together to say what he felt. "I miss her. Sometimes it's nice to pretend for a little while," he finally admitted.

"Do you tell her how lonely you are?"

"Sometimes," Jane fudged. Truthfully, he told his wife that all the time.

"What do you think she would say to that?"

Jane closed his eyes again, finally cottoning on to where Lisbon was going with all of her questions.

"She loved me," Jane said quietly, fingering his wedding ring. "She always believed I was worth far more than I really am."

"I think Angela was right," Lisbon said softly. Her deliberate use of his wife's name caused Jane to flinch slightly. In response, she wrapped her hand around his and gently squeezed.

"Oh my God, Jane!"

"Hm?" Jane turned to face her, confusion written all over his face, though it was too dark for Lisbon to see it clearly.

"Your hands are so dry, and cold." Lisbon gently pinched the skin on the top of his hand, and she could feel that the ridge she created did not go away – a sure sign of dehydration. "Have you had anything to drink since you've been here?"

"No," Jane answered.

Lisbon shifted her hand around his so that her fingers were resting on his wrist. His pulse was rapid; even without a clock, she knew it was too fast, and it wasn't nearly as strong as she'd like it to be. "How are you feeling?" She was careful to keep her voice calm, even though she was terrified. She remembered the rule of three's – people could only survive three days without water. It had already been two days, and who knew when he had stopped to drink before he was taken.

"I'm okay. Don't worry about me, Lisbon," Jane said.

"How are you feeling?" Lisbon repeated, this time allowing a hint of panic to seep into her words.

"Tired," Jane muttered. "Thirsty. Hungry. I have a headache. Nothing unexpected."

"Here," Lisbon said, taking his jacket and holding it around him. "Put this back on."

Jane wordlessly slipped his arms through the appropriate holes, and Lisbon fixed it so that it covered him properly.

"We're gonna get out of here, Patrick."

"Mmm," Jane hummed noncommittally. Things were really getting fuzzy, and he was having trouble stringing thoughts together.

Lisbon didn't like how listless Jane seemed, and she kicked herself for not realizing sooner how badly he was doing – not that it would have made a difference. "Do you want to lay down for a while?"

"Gonna sleep," he mumbled in a small voice.

Lisbon froze; she was worried that if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake up. Then again, she was pretty sure sleeping wouldn't make him die any faster than if he was awake. "Sure. You're pretty tired, hm?" She answered, keeping her tone light and casual.

"So tired," Jane whispered.

"Okay. Lets get you settled, then." Lisbon couldn't get behind him because he was still resting against the wall, so she shifted him sideways and guided his shoulders down, letting his head rest on her thighs as she leaned against the wall. It seemed like he was asleep in seconds, and Lisbon wondered if he had managed to sleep at all since he had been there. If he had been deprived of food, water and sleep, then that would certainly explain his exhaustion. And, Lisbon thought, maybe sleep will actually help him. She couldn't give him food or water, but she could let him rest.

Lisbon's right hand stroked Jane's hair, and the other held her cross pendant tightly while she prayed to be found soon, before Jane ran out of time.