AN: Whoa. This first part is definitely a tag with a little bit of the promo for 6x20 thrown in for good measure. I accidentally made this a multiparter, so the next chapter will be a lot of the promo for next episode. Because, well, come on!

This show is murdering me in the best way possible.

Depths and Determinations

She was leaving him.

And he was...what? Letting her go? Standing aside while a man she claimed made her happy took her halfway across the country?

Letting her lie to both herself and to him?

She wanted him to be upset, wanted to hurt him with her words, wanted him to do something.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

So he watched her walk away with Pike's arm around her. Apparently, he should get used to it.

Until he didn't even get to see her anymore.

This was a nightmare.

For a second, a bright shining second, he thought she was telling him that Pike was leaving. He would have feigned sorrow for her. Well, perhaps it wouldn't have been all fake. He didn't want her to be sad, to be in pain. Never that. However, above all else, he would have been happy that Marcus Goddamn Pike was out of their lives and things could go back to the way they were supposed to be.

And then she'd added on that he'd asked her to go with him.

He'd wanted to scream. Actually scream. To give a voice to the pain that had crashed through him like unexpected lightning, powerful and sharp and utterly uncaring about the cage of flesh and emotions that it wrecked.

He wondered if he was actually going to be sick.

Defeated, disoriented, he'd made it back to the Airstream, had navigated the streets of Austin until he was safe in the FBI parking lot again.

He tried to make tea, but his hands were shaking too badly.

Instead, he'd grabbed a beer from the full six-pack he'd gotten with some vague idea of having something for Lisbon to drink when she would inevitably come see him.

Of course, she hadn't.

Two healthy swigs later and he wasn't worried that his trembling fingers would slosh the alcohol out of the bottle as he held it.

He stared at the label. The big-horned sheep looked balefully back at him. Clearly, it would be of no help to him. He took another drink.

There had clearly been something on her mind; he'd known that for a days. He'd figured it wasn't life changing or she would have shared. After all, he was still her best friend. Or at least, he thought he was supposed to be.

Clearly, she had other ideas.

He sat the bottle down with a dull clink, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands on his face. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on.

How had they gotten to this point? Life was supposed to be easy now.

His beer was gone. He opened another one. It didn't matter - Lisbon wasn't going to be around to drink them anyway.

Suddenly, getting spectacularly drunk seemed like an excellent idea. After all, he reasoned, it had been a shitty day with a shitty case. A shitty few days, actually. Having someone basically die in his arms, knowing she was going to, it haunted him. As soon as he'd touched her, he knew she wouldn't last. And so he'd tried to hypnotize her, tried to take away her pain. She deserved it, deserved some reprieve in her last moments.

He didn't think it had worked.

One more regret.

A third beer came and went.

He didn't drink often, and he was starting to feel it.

Lisbon's words - he makes a point of always being there for me.

She might as well have said the rest of it out loud, too - you aren't.

The hell of it was, he couldn't argue with it. No, he wasn't there for her. He had the damning habit of leaving her by herself, usually when she needed him. When he had brought the whole world down around them in California, she had needed him. Instead, he'd left her on the roadside. When everything had shattered, he had been thousands of miles away, leaving her to sift through the wreckage of her life all alone.

If she'd ever needed him before, she did then.

And she didn't have him.

He had wondered about what that time was like for her. About the nights she had just gone home and cried. He should have been there. She could have put her head on his shoulder and let the tears come. He would have held her for as long as she needed it, hands in her hair, tracing patterns down her back, letting her know that no matter what happened, they could face it together.

But she had dealt with it by herself. One more burden her narrow shoulders had supported.

Marcus Pike would never let her deal with anything alone. He'd probably move heaven and earth to be with her. Would have rather been arrested then let her feel abandoned.

He ignored the part of his brain that told him if he stayed, he would probably be on death row. He had purposely set out to kill a man, and had succeeded. Special circumstances 101. Hello, lethal injection.

Then Lisbon really would have been alone.

Before he could start wondering whether or not she would have come to his execution, he opened another beer.

Nothing's Finer than a Shiner, the package read. He wanted to flip it the bird. Stupid goddamn sheep mountain goat thing logo.

He took a deep breath. Getting irrationally angry at cartoons wasn't going to improve his situation.

Was he really going to be that guy, the one that let the woman he loved just wander off into the sunset with someone not him?

Hell no.

Lisbon was torn, clearly. She didn't know what to do. He knew she loved him. But he also knew that he could only expect her to wait for so long. Why the hell had she suddenly decided his time was up? She'd waited for twelve years - why did she have to give up on him now?

He was an idiot. He shouldn't expect her to just...put her life on hold. And she had warned him, had told him she wasn't going to.

She hadn't been bluffing.

He hadn't realized until now how much he'd counted on her being there.

And he had no right to do that, none whatsoever.

That didn't mean he should give up.

No.

He stood up, imbued with sudden purpose. He wasn't going to let her go. He was doing to drop this ridiculous false happiness that he was sure she saw through, and he was going to tell her how he felt.

His hand was on the door before he remembered she wasn't home. She was with Pike. Underneath him, probably, and he stewed in his misery for another moment, and he allowed himself perhaps thirty seconds to think about it.

Then he forcefully blocked it out.

Tomorrow.

He would do this tomorrow.

In the meantime, he was going to finish these damn beers.

He fell asleep an hour later, the world spinning slightly, arms wrapped around a pillow that he desperately tried to pretend was Lisbon. His eyes closed, and he wondered what he wouldn't give for her to be there, to bury his face in the curve of her neck. Nothing, he decided. There was nothing he wouldn't give. He didn't have much, didn't have anything really, but he would have given it all for her.

In that moment, he wanted to be held so badly he almost choked.

But no one was there. No one had been there for twelve years.

His arms tightened around his pillow, and he held on like his life depended on it.

He woke up around five am, his mouth tasting like yesterday's news, a steady, throbbing ache in his temples.

His hands were still shaking at he put the kettle on, then fished through cupboards until he found the aspirin. He revived a bit over his tea, felt well enough to make eggs.

The shower was hot and he shivered as he stepped into the spray.

A strange sense of peace had settled over him.

The solution to his problem was obvious. He would ask her not to go. Lisbon never told him no. Besides, it was time to tell her how he felt.

Pike was leaving, and he wanted her to know that he would be waiting for her when she decided she was ready.

He didn't care how long it took. He would be there.

He would do whatever it took to prove that to her. Hell, he'd buy a house next to her, would call her five times a day, would take her out for dinner every night.

Would get on his knees and beg.

Literally.

There was nothing he was above at this juncture.

It didn't matter, as long as she stayed.

He was at the office an hour before anyone else, and he paced in the break room, the same place he'd broken up Lisbon's little moment with Pike earlier. He'd made sure he mentioned the Thai place - Pike wasn't the only one who knew her well, wasn't the only one who paid attention to her favorites.

It gave him an idea.

He dug out her favorite coffee, carefully measured, then started it brewing. The first person who made coffee got to pick the brand, and now she would have what she wanted.

By the time he saw her arrive, he was feeling almost back to normal. She looked distracted, but she did smile a little when she saw the mug of coffee on her desk.

"Morning," he said, coming up to her with his own teacup.

"Hey," she said, giving him her usual grin. "Thanks for this," she added, lifting her drink up to him in a small toast. "I'm assuming it was you, anyway," she went on.

"It was," he confirmed.

She kept smiling at him, and he could physically feel their connection.

"Uh, any leads on the trafficking case?" she eventually asked, casting her eyes back at her desk.

"Not that I know of, but it's still early," he replied. Stop stalling, he told himself. "Lisbon," he started, waiting to get her attention again.

Her expression was a little wary when she turned, and he knew she'd caught the change in his tone of voice.

"About DC." He took a deep breath. "I hope you stay."

Her smile took his breath away. "You do?"

There were so many things he could say, things that were teasing, things that were cryptic, his usual avenues. Instead, he tried to let his heart show through his eyes and simply said, "Yes. I do."

He recognized the look on her face, though, shamefully, he hadn't seen it nearly often enough. It was joy.

And suddenly, he understood.

She wanted to be stopped.

No, she wanted to be stopped by him.

All of her challenging words, telling him about the offer to move...they were supposed to make him do something.

He had almost failed her again.

"Can I come over tonight?" he asked, not thinking about the words. "Just so we can talk?"

She nodded, and he swore her eyes were wet. When he looked closer, he could see her heart beating in the base of her throat.

"Alright," he said quietly. As he passed by her, he squeezed her shoulder lightly. It would have been platonic, except for the way he brushed his thumb across the edge of her neck.

She noticed, and her cheeks got pink.

For a moment, he allowed himself to fiercely hope.

She was still his. Would always be his, even if she put half a country between them. Which he sincerely hoped she didn't do.

It would be okay.

They would be okay.

He kept thinking that right up until he was unexpectedly arrested.

And then his plans changed.