Patrick Jane was by no means an insecure man. A brilliant, troubled (and maybe a little bit concieted) man, most certainly. But never insecure.
He'd never been particularly taken with guns. In fact, he found the whole business of shooting one, whether to wound or kill, to be unnecessarily messy. A few careful words could have a similar effect with half the hassle, could convince a man there was a bullet in his leg even if he'd never seen a gun. Jane's weapon was his mind, and he found it to be a particularly effective one.
That didn't mean that he faulted those that resorted to guns, or other weapons, as a means of self-defense. He could recount seventy-two occasions where Lisbon had come to his rescue, and ninety-percent of the time she'd taken the perp down with either the threat of force or an incapacitating shot. Lisbon rarely shot to kill, but she'd killed for Jane, too.
It had never truly occured to him, in a society dominated by a sexual hierarchy in which men were expected to be both provider and protector, that being saved by his pistol-packing, pregnant bride would be in any way unusual.
Like he said, he was not an insecure man.
Jane knew that their relationship was far from conventional. He'd had his turn working the nine to five, coming home to a hot meal on the table and the comforting, heartwarming laughter of his children. They'd discussed the possibility of Jane staying home with the child while Lisbon went back to work, of Jane being allowed a chance to experience the little moments he'd missed with Charlotte.
He'd spent too much time wondering about all the what-ifs. His mind, like some kind of slow-acting poison, liked to torture him with images that would never come to pass: Charlotte's sweet sixteen, the elation on her face when she got her driver's license, the sweet pain of seeing her off to college, the unbridled joy of placing her hand into her future husband's on her wedding day...
Jane was okay with no longer playing the role of provider. This time around, he wanted to be there for all the little moments. He wanted to teach her to play the piano, and join the PTA, and go to ballet recitals (or soccer games, if she preferred), and read her to sleep. And when nightmares plagued her sleep, he wanted to be there, too.
This time around, he'd be a father that his little girl could be proud of. Sexual hierarchy and societal expectations be damned.
Elysia loved her fairytales. The book - a thick, brightly colored collection of all the classics - had been a gift from Cho and Mia for Elysia's second birthday. Jane would estimate a solid ninety-five percent of bedtime stories came from its selection of thirty-five stories. He'd memorized her favorite, Sleeping Beauty.
They were about halfway through that night's story when Elysia pointed to a picture of the valiant prince ascending the stairs to rescue the princess from her tower, "Just like Mommy saved Daddy!" She'd definitely inherited Jane's thousand-watt smile, and was putting it to full effect now.
Elysia, exceptionally bright for her age, knew that sometimes her Daddy would get sad for what seemed to be no reason at all. Usually, she would draw him a pretty picture or give him a hug, and he would perk right up. But sometimes, and these occasions were very, very rare, only Mommy could bring a smile to her Daddy's face. At first, these few instances would upset Elysia - but then, her Mommy had told her a special secret.
"You know that your Daddy loves us very much, right Ellie?" Lisbon sat on the bed beside her daughter, slowly smoothing a hand over her ruddy blonde curls.
Elysia nodded hurriedly. Of course she knew how much Jane loved her, her Daddy didn't let a day go by where he didn't say it at least once. "Yeah!"
"Well, sometimes Daddy gets sad. And as much as we want to make it better, we can't." Lisbon tucked a stray curl behind Elysia's ear. "And that doesn't mean that Daddy loves us any less. In fact, when he gets sad like that, you and I become even more special to him."
"Really?" Clearly hanging off of every word, Lisbon couldn't help but smile at the attentiveness her daughter was showing.
"Really really." She bopped the tip of the little girl's nose, earning a small giggle. "You know, a long time ago, Daddy got sad an awful lot. You remember when we told you about your big sister Charlotte?" A nod. "Well, Daddy missed her a lot - he still does. And he was hurting here," she put a hand over her heart, "and didn't tell anyone."
Elysia seemed to consider this for a moment, before the pieces fell into place. "Then Mommy came and saved the day, just like the prince in my fairytale book!" She smiled brightly, "Mommy made Daddy happy again!"
Lisbon felt her eyes grow moist, and she blinked hurriedly to hold back the tears. "And don't forget Daddy's little princess. Your Daddy has loved you since you were still in here," she brought Elysia's hand and placed it on her belly. We make Daddy very happy, even if sometimes he feels a little sad."
Jane was silent for a moment, allowing the weight of his daughter's words to sink in. He hadn't realized quite how far he'd fallen until he allowed himself to taste happiness for the first time since his family was murdered, till Lisbon told him that he'd been granted a second chance at fatherhood and he'd wept. He might not believe in a divine power or a restful afterlife... but it was nothing short of a miracle when Lisbon had agreed to become his wife... had bore him a daughter...
When she'd given his life meaning again.
Jane's expression melted into a warm smile, and with a slight shrug he professed, "Your Mommy has been saving me from day one. Even when I didn't want to be rescued."
It was a little over an hour after he'd put her to bed that Lisbon arrived home, looking haggard and about thirty seconds from crashing on the nearest object suitable for sleeping - in this case, the couch. Jane, having already prepared her a cup of tea (country peach passion, the only thing she deemed suitable to drink), lead her to the nearest seat, eased off her shoes, and began massaging her feet.
Lisbon raised an eyebrow, "Not that I'm not appreciative... but what's this for?"
"Thank you." Jane said simply, not bothering to divert his attention from his task.
After a moment of silence, Lisbon confessed, "I'm still not following -,"
Jane leaned in, kissing her ankle gently. "Thank you... for saving your ungrateful damsel in distress."
No, Patrick Jane was not concerned with the fact that his wife was the sole provider for the household, or that she was the only one comfortable weilding a gun. And he certainly didn't mind playing damsel in distress... if she was his knight in shining armor.