She thinks it's the pain that's kept her alive for so long.
That it's; all the hormones and adrenalin pumping through her system that keep her heart beating, but she doesn't think it's going to last much longer due to the way the pain is fading and she begins to feel content.
But she pushes back against that content, against the feeling of sleep pressing down on her eye lids, she instead focuses on the sharp feeling in her side; it feels like someone's dragging thorns out through the gaping hole just below her ribs.
She focuses on the way her own blood feels when she shifts just a tiny bit, focuses on the warm sticky feeling that gently coats her clothing and skin. She focuses on the ripples in the puddle of her blood when she moves.
But her mind begins to roll around again to the feeling of content, and the sleep hanging just above her head.
She inhales and wonder how long it's been since the door shut and Red John walked out, leaving her a bloody mess in his wake.
She thinks' it's been a long time, due to how the pain is finally fading.
She exhales and wonders if she should write a message with the ink, her blood, pooled around her.
Her left hand twitches and she distantly scans her memories, she thinks of the murder victims she's found with frantic messages written in blood besides them; she thinks of Lorelei Martin's sister, and how before she died she carved the name 'Roy' into the flooring.
She thinks of how she'd felt at the sight, how the victim's family reacted when she delivered the messages, seven times out of ten they seemed relieved, like their grieving was a little easier to handle because they got the final words of the one they'd lost.
She lifts her left hand and it shakes but she dips the edge of her index finger in the blood and shifts, just a little extending her hand to the edge of the puddle and begins to write the top of the letter 'I'.
She makes it to; IM SO; when her hand begins to shake and she feels like she's going to slip under any minute.
That's when she hears the shouts, and recognizes the faint sound of gun fire, and she hopes for a moment that she'll be able to tell someone her message instead of have to write it out; but just in case she begins to write a 'R' next to the 'O', she starts the next one and about seven feet away the door (she thinks it was seven feet, judging from what she saw when she first woke up) smashes open.
She hears the strangled shout that follows; she knows who ever has just entered the room has just seen the red smiley face painting on the wall above her head, with her blood.
It's a man. She deduces as the shout continues, morphs into shouts of horror and No, no, please, not again.
It's Jane; she realizes, and she tries to lift her head to get a better look at him; his silhouette comes into view; black against the golden light coming from the hall, the edges of his silhouette are lit gold and she can see the tournament etched into his features.
He looks like an angel she thinks; one who fell, and hit every tree branch on the way down.
But an angel none the less, a broken, frayed torn apart man; but a brilliant and amazing angel in the end.
"Lisbon?" He breathes and she hears the floor creak as he rushes forward, they creak only once so she assumes he's fallen but then he's on the floor beside her. "Lisbon?" He asks again and his voice cracks this time around.
Ripples break out in her puddle and she blinks, swallowing. "You'll get your knees dirty." She whispers and listens to the breathy chuckle that follows, he shouts something, she thinks he's shout for Cho (she hears him say his name), and for someone to call 911, he sounds frantic.
She's never heard him sound frantic before, scared, she's heard him scared plenty of times before (with him driving the car and her with a bomb strapped to her chest), but this tone of voice is completely new to her.
His hands touch her shoulders and pain shocks snaps through her like someone had been holding a elastic band taunt and just let it go; she whimpers, "Please don't."
He stills, she feels his hands hover though, and one of them plasters against her side. "Please, Jane." She says again, begging.
"I've gotta stop the bleeding," He says in response and there's a shuffling noise; the sound of ripping Velcro, followed by the sound of shuffling and suddenly she's got the top piece of his suit pressed against her breast and the bottom section of her neck.
"You won't in time -" She whispers, and she thinks her words over, they don't really make sense but she doesn't have the energy to correct herself.
"Stop talking." He snaps and in a more gentle tone continues, "Don't waste your energy." She doesn't want to do that, so she doesn't speak again.
Silence fills the empty space between them and she inhales.
"Did you mean it?" She asks.
"Mean what?" He asks instead of telling her to not speak; she thinks he's realizing himself she'll die before help can get here.
"You said you love me, but then you said you forgot about it."
She hears him suck in a breath, clear his throat and then speak again.
"Of course I meant it."
"Then why did you say you forgot?" She asks.
He clears his throat again; and his voice cracks when he speaks.
"It didn't seem like the right time to tell you."
"Oh." She says, pausing. "I love you too." She says.
He makes a choking noise and whimpers; the noise breaks mid way through leaving his mouth, "Please don't leave me." He whispers in the death of the noise.
She tilts her head back, she feels the blood against the back of her head, feels her hair float in it and stick together in lumps because of it. "I'm sorry." She retorts.
"Just.." He trails off, "J – just hang on, please." He begs, making another noise; stifling what sounds like crying; she's never seen him cry before, but she can't truly make out his features now; just the blur half lit vision of his face.
"It's not your fault." She pauses, "Did you get him?" She asks; she hates the pain that etches across his features, how visible it is when his eyebrows curve upwards and the way his eyes flutter before he answers.
His hands, one holding the suit to her and the other holding the gaping hole with thorns below her ribs tighten against her skin. "We did." He admits she can hear him smile; the moist sound of his lips cracking, she can see the faint shine of teeth.
"So it's over?" She asks.
"It is." He answers gently, and he shifts closer; dragging his knees through the blood despite her earlier protest.
Lifting her gently from the floor and setting her upper half across his knees. The hand holding the section of suit against her breasts abandons the suit for a moment to position her head on his lap and returns to holding the fabric down; "It's over, but it doesn't have to end." He whispers.
She inhales.
"Yes it does, Jane."
She exhales.
She hears him suck in a breath and whimper again; he sounds like a child, she thinks.
"How'd you do it?" She asks as that thought floats away.
"Rigsby shot him as he was leaving the room, I –" He clears his throat, "I finished the job and came in here, I – I um, stabbed him in the neck, and then I kicked the door open."
Oh, so it hasn't been that long; and what also surprises her is that he didn't even check to see if Red John was dead; his next instinct was to kick the door down, not check to see if the man that killed his family and tormented him for the past decade was dead.
She inhales again, "Jane." She says.
"Just – Just hold on, Lisbon." He growls, she hears his breath hitch and she feels her lips twitch upwards in a smile; they feel cold as she smiles, a soft feeling like cold water begins to run across her face.
"I love you." She repeats and she feels him begin to shake; he's crying she realizes, the water, had been his tears.
"Jane?"
"I – I love you, too." He says, gasping for breath now.
Her mind is foggy.
"Good luck, Patrick." She adds, her mouth feels numb now.
He shakes harder; his gasps turning to silent sobs, "Don't, cry." She whispers, but he does anyway, she feels his shoulders hitch as he does just that. "I'm sor-"She chokes on the words.
She exhales for the final time; and the world fades black slowly; his face un-blurs and she sees him with a new clarity, see's the tears in reflection of those sharp blue eyes, see's how his lips are curled downwards, see's the stains of tears on his face; see's the gold light from the hall that bathes his face.
It melts into the darkness and she cleans to the sound of him crying now, she can feel the floor board creek once more and she hears Cho's muffled voice, which are soon overcome by Jane's crying, she hears his breath hitch and then she's gone for good, letting herself fall into sleep; welcomes the feeling of content.
AN: I may turn this into a story, I may not, I've got some other endings where she doesn't die, if anyone is interested enough to read those, mention it in a review and I'll re-write the ending.