AN: Hello there! Warning: I'm (really) not thrilled with the way this turned out, but I think this is the best you're going to get. I feel it's a little...out of character, at least towards the end. Do I think this is going to happen? I have no idea. Honestly, there's a certain point Jane and Lisbon will be at by the end of the series, and they're going to have to cover a lot of ground before then or it's going to seem contrived and not particularly authentic.
But. Those are opinions for another day.
So this isn't fluffy like I originally intended, but it does have a happy ending, I promise.
Proof and Points
He walked away.
He walked away. Without even a backwards glance, without any sign of hesitation.
Stunned, shattered, she stood in silence, absently wondering if the insubstantial brush of his lips against her cheek would be the last contact she would ever have with him.
The selfish bastard.
Underneath her hurt, anger was bubbling to the surface, slowing turning her blood from frozen to simmering.
She sucked in a deep breath, then another, willing herself to not fall apart. Not here. Not now.
The drive back to her house was a blur. Her hands were stiff and aching from holding the wheel too tightly. She had needed to - having something to focus on was all that was keeping her from having a breakdown on the freeway.
Almost there, she'd told herself. Just a few more minutes for you to hold it together.
She rewarded herself for making it home by giving herself permission to break down.
And she did, sliding helplessly down the door she had just barely made it in, huge, choking sobs racking her shoulders.
He'd left her. Already.
Of course, she'd always known it was a possibility. Patrick Jane left people. No, she amended. Patrick Jane left her.
She was an idiot for allowing this. God, they had barely been together for a month before he'd started talking about leaving the FBI. She had known it was a giant red flag then, but she'd been too wrapped up in what it was like to openly love this man to heed the warning like she should have.
She was paying for that mistake now.
From her spot on the floor, she could see the book he had been reading a few days ago resting on an end table. She'd half expected him to have already been here to clear out the reminders of his presence in her life.
She wasn't in a position to know if that would have been easier or harder to deal with.
Making a token attempt to wipe her eyes, she pulled herself to her feet, shed her jacket. There was a crinkling noise as she slid it from her shoulders, and she frowned, searching for the source of the sound. It was the memorial pamphlet from Vega's funeral, complete with her picture, Bible verses, and obituary.
She cried again, but this time, it was for Vega. For the life she had never gotten. For the love she had never experienced. For a story ended just as it began. She cried for Wylie's sorrow, for Cho's guilt. For the empty desk that sat just a few feet away from hers.
There was going to be an empty couch to go with it.
The wayward thought had come from deep within her breaking heart, and she sprinted to the bathroom, abruptly sick.
After, it seemed too much work to move, so she sprawled on the floor, the tile cold and unforgiving under her clammy cheek.
She'd had just a few months with Jane. She'd waited thirteen years, and he'd given her four months.
When he'd kissed her that first time, she'd thought that this was the start of her happily ever after.
She wrapped her arms around herself, knees pulled in. She was shaking, shivering, nose running.
And alone.
This was probably her fault. After all, she'd been the one who was stupid enough to think that love would be enough to fix Patrick Jane, with all of his cracks and flaws and the profound damage that marred him.
She felt a thrill of rage again. Did he think her death would be easier if he just had to read about it in the paper one day? He'd been watching her work for almost a decade and a half, had seen her break down a hundred doors, take a thousand suspects in, pull her gun countless times.
He did not get to issue ultimatums.
Not about this.
It was not romantic - the idea of giving up everything for love. It was awful. Being a cop was such a deeply ingrained part of her identity, and she would be lost without it. It was who she was, and he had no right to ask her to change that, to get along without it.
For such a long time, it had been the only thing she'd had.
It was still the only thing she had.
And she would not give it up just because he had asked. What was he giving her in return?
Jane had always been holding himself back, always. Even now that she could touch him, kiss him, make love with him until neither of them could think.
He still held himself back.
Was it fear? Probably, she thought. And habit. And a defense mechanism.
Much like his wedding ring.
Although it seemed like a monumental effort, she reached under the sink, tugged out a towel. She wiped her face, then clumsily wrapped the terry cloth around herself. It was a pathetic picture, but she was mired so far in her anger and despair that it hardly registered.
For a few moments, she stared blankly into the cupboard under the sink, having not even bothered to shut the door. Her eyes looked at the familiar items, barely seeing them. But then...something caught her attention. She blinked slowly, thinking. It was hard work, her brain refusing to process the implications.
Not right now, she told herself desperately, and her mind agreed, saving that discussion for later. There were only so many things she could deal with at once, and that was just too much to bear.
She curled into herself further.
This was not happening.
Maybe if she closed her eyes tight enough, the world would be all right when she opened them.
God, she was just so cold.
And Jane had left her. Now, when she needed him the most.
Because he was selfish and didn't want to be hurt.
Like he was the only one who could be hurt.
Like she wasn't dying inside because the man she loved didn't love her enough to stay.
Briefly, she thought of the new suspicion that had planted itself in her mind. What would he do about that?
Well, she didn't know anything for certain, not yet.
Except she did, deep in her heart.
The tears were coming again, and, exhausted, frightened, she sobbed on the floor until she fell asleep.
When she woke, it was blearily, aware that not more than a few hours had passed. She hurt everywhere, inside and out, but there was a spot of blessed warmth on her arm.
"You're freezing," Jane said, sounding alarmed, and she wondered if she was imagining things.
With herculean effort, she turned her head, and there he was.
He looked awful, almost as bad as she felt, eyes rimmed in red. But he was warm, and she leaned into him instinctively, numb brain only registering that he was here, that he hadn't disappeared on her.
"Teresa," he said, urgently, "are you all right?"
"No," she whispered without thought. She certainly wasn't.
Jane scooped her up in another second, carrying her down the short hallway to the bedroom, tucking her in beneath the unmade covers. He settled next to her, his front to her back, arms wrapped around her.
They had laid this way many times before, and it had never felt more wrong.
"Why are you here?" she breathed, brain processing slowly.
She could feel his frown. "What does that mean?"
"You left," she accused, heart bruised. "You left me."
Jane's arms tightened. "I left the cemetery, Teresa. Not you."
She was silent.
Abruptly, he put a hand on her shoulder, shifting them until she was on her back and he could look at her. His expression was...afraid, she finally decided.
"Teresa," he said, very softly. "Did you think..." He paused, searching her face. "Christ, you did."
He quickly pulled her up against his chest, arms gathering her close. It was only when she put her face in the crook of his neck that she realized she was crying again.
"It's all right," he whispered to temple, smoothing her hair. "It's all right, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, so sorry."
All she could do was breathe in the scent of his cologne and cling to him.
When her sobs subsided, she pushed away enough to look at him. He looked horrified.
"Where did you go?" she finally whispered.
He shook his head slightly. "For a walk," he told her. "Just for a walk. I needed to think."
She knew there was more to that statement, so she waited. Her mind didn't feel so foggy anymore.
"Teresa," he began, "First off..." He kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry that you thought..." He shook his head. "I love you," he said, "and I'm finding that I'm terrible at being in a relationship with you."
She felt another stirring of fear.
"That's not your fault," he went on, "but you're the one taking the fallout for it." He took a deep breath. "The idea that I could lose you scares me more than anything else in the world," he confessed, "and I don't handle that fear well. I don't think I ever will."
"That doesn't mean you get to be selfish about it," she whispered, and he frowned.
"How's that?"
She stared. "You really can't see it? Jane, you're the most selfish person I've ever met, at least when it comes to pain." She scrubbed her hands down her face, not necessarily wanting to have this conversation now, but knowing it would be for the best if she did. "You're the only one who gets to be hurt by death. You're the only one who gets to be afraid. You're the only one who gets to shut themselves away and be miserable for years and no one is allowed to pull you out of it. You're the only one who can leave." Her voice was rising, and she could feel hysteria creeping up her throat. "Like losing you wouldn't kill me. Like you've never broken my heart. You are not the only one who feels pain." She saw a tear slide down his cheek, but she kept on. "And so, yes, I thought you were leaving. I thought you were already gone. I thought you had decided to be selfish and that since I refused to deal with your outrageous controlling ultimatum, you would just vanish because you can't stand not being able to manipulate everything around you."
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "I know you're a mess. But I also know you've never really tried to...clean up. You didn't want to. You needed your pain for revenge, and I let you have that. I don't know what you need it for now. I thought..." her voice broke. "I thought maybe I would be enough, but maybe you want to be in control more than you want to be happy."
Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, breathing shallow. Was this going to be it? Was she the one who was giving out the ultimatums now?
Jane was silent for several minutes, eyes far away.
Then, "You're right," he breathed.
Right about what? she wanted to scream.
"I am selfish," he continued quietly, so quietly she stopped breathing to make certain she could hear him. "And I've never tried to give up my pain. And I've never given you any reason to think that I would do anything other than leave again."
He took both of her hands, and she looked down automatically. His ring was gone.
"I love you," he told her, recapturing her attention. "I'm trying to find a way of expressing that like a normal human, but I'm not good at it, not anymore. All I can think of is that you have to be kept safe."
"Patrick," she said earnestly, "you're the one that keeps hurting me."
He looked stunned, shocked into silence.
"This isn't how relationships work," she went on. "We're supposed to compromise. Compromise does not mean that one person gives up everything. And that's what you're asking me to do."
He met her eyes, and she could see he was thinking, truly thinking, about what she was saying.
That was something.
"Okay," he finally whispered. "I can't... I can't promise overnight change. I can't promise I won't behave irrationally sometimes, or revert to old habits. But I...I promise to try." He looked shaken still.
They weren't done with this conversation, not by a long shot, but she was so tired right now, weary down to the marrow of her bones. Besides, there was no point in continuing their talk without knowing all of the factors that would affect them. And she wanted confirmation first.
She sighed, leaned against his shoulder.
"Let's take a shower," he suggested. "You're still freezing."
She nodded, willing to let him fuss over her tonight.
Later, dressed in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, she snuggled next to him in bed. Exhaustion took over, and she fell asleep with her cheek against his heart.
A little less than twenty four hours later, she was nervously sitting across from him, wondering how in the hell she was going to tell him what she absolutely had to tell him.
"I was thinking," she began, swallowing.
He raised an eyebrow. "About?"
She sucked in a deep breath. "Transferring to a different department. Financial crimes, maybe. Less field action, certainly, and much less danger, but still catching bad guys."
He looked at her curiously. "All of which are excellent points in favor of making this decision, but I have to ask...why? You've made it pretty clear that you really weren't interested in making life-changing alterations about work."
Here was the difficult part. "I lost my parents at a young age," she said slowly, "and a few days ago...Vega..." she trailed off, but there was no need to explain that. "The point is, I want to make sure I'm around."
There was something deep and thoughtful in Jane's eyes, and then...a flare of hope.
Another deep breath.
"I'm pregnant," she blurted out.
And then there was silence.
It was impossible, but there it was. She had realized it yesterday, scanning the usual items under the sink and not remembering the last time she'd had to use some a few of those particular things.
The test she'd bought at the drug store tonight had simply told her what she'd already known.
Jane stood abruptly, crossing the space between them, then knelt before her. Tentatively, he rested a palm on her stomach.
She bit her lip, waiting for his response.
When he looked up, his smile blinded her.
She cried again, this time in relief and happiness, and Jane kissed her gently. Then he laughed. "If I would have only known this would get you out of Violent Crimes, I would have done this months ago."
He kissed her again, pulling her into his lap. "Everything will be all right," he whispered, and she knew it was a promise.