Title: Bella Notte

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, same as always.

Summary: Tag for Devil's Cherry, 5x2. Because I couldn't stand to let it end there.

Author's Note: Was I the only one muttering "You idiot!" all during the last scene? I do not want to spend this season down the rabbit hole! So this is me trying to haul us out of it.

Jane rose gradually to consciousness, unused to sleeping so heavily. The first thing he became aware of was the disgusting wet spot on the pillow near his mouth-had he actually drooled? Ugh. That, on top of the very bad trip he'd had before his body decided it'd had enough, was enough to make him resolve to be done with hallucinogenic tea. Getting in touch with his subconscious had sounded like a great way to see Charlotte again, but somehow he had forgotten about the horrors also lurking there. He shuddered at the memory, even though he had evidence in front of his eyes that it had not been real.

Because Lisbon was sitting right there, slumped over uncomfortably in the desk chair she'd dragged over so she could sit with her fingers wrapped around his wrist. He was surprised she hadn't woken him, and even more surprised that he wasn't in a hospital again.

Idiot, he chastised himself. Of course she wouldn't call an ambulance if she thought she might not have to. He'd used a controlled substance in CBI headquarters, of all the stupid places to do so. What with Bertram still on the warpath from being blackmailed into that hearing, there was an excellent chance this would have been the last straw. Bertram would not just kick him to the curb, he'd throw him under the biggest bus he could find. So, since he'd fallen asleep and seemed okay, she'd done what she always did-tried to contain the damage. Though judging by the tear track barely visible on her cheek in the moonlight, it hadn't been an easy call.

He should have hidden the tea before drinking his cup. Then she probably would have assumed he was just in a normal sleep and gone home to a real bed instead of sleeping in a chair giving herself a wicked pain in her neck. It struck him that on smelling the tea, she might have, for a moment, thought him dead or dying. That would account for the crying much better than fear for his job.

God, he hoped he hadn't screamed in the real world when the (thank God) imaginary Red John had pulled Lisbon's head out of that box. He could have sworn she had already left for the day when he returned with the tea. What was she even doing here? He hoped he wasn't getting predictable, although he knew there was nothing more predictable than obsession.

He turned his hand in her gentle grip so he could tug on her wrist. She gave a little grimace but didn't wake, so he tugged harder. "Hey," he said quietly, "you're going to hate yourself in the morning if you stay like that. Come on, there's room."

It took several minutes of coaxing, and he didn't think she ever really woke up, but at last he got her onto the cot, sliding an arm around her to make sure she wouldn't roll off the edge. He didn't think more sleep was possible for him, but gradually the fruity scent of her hair and the soft, regular sounds of her breathing lulled him into dozing off.

He'd planned on cleaning up the evidence before she woke, but her internal clock wasn't nearly as messed up as his, and he barely had time to register the loss of her warmth and open his eyes before her fist connected with his shoulder.

"You are an idiot," she hissed, "and if I ever catch you high anywhere near this office or in the field, I will break every bone in your body. If you're determined to kill yourself, I can't stop you, but you will not endanger my team doing it, do you hear me?"

"I hear you," he said. He was a little disturbed to hear her categorize him as separate from the team, as if she'd already written him off, but he couldn't really blame her. Her whole body was screaming How could you do this to me? and he was ashamed that he hadn't given her a thought, other than trying to hide this from her. "And I am sorry."

"Sorry you got caught," she retorted. "And don't insult me by lying and saying you won't try it again. But if you do, do it in your motel room or someplace where the person who finds your body won't be someone who cares about you."

Yes, she had definitely thought he was dead. Just for a moment, but long enough to face that hole he'd left in her life those six months and know it for her future. He couldn't have been more cruel to her if he'd tried.

He sat up. "If it's any consolation, I didn't find what I was looking for. But what I did find convinced me that my subconscious is much too terrible a place to go wandering around in."

"I don't give a damn what you found, Jane. Because you know what? This was a big flashing sign saying 'end of the road.' I can't help you if you're determined to destroy yourself. There's no room on my team for an addict."

He knew he shouldn't be surprised at her anger, given her personal history. He had to step carefully. "I understand if you can't risk giving me a second chance."

"Second? Try two thousandth!"

Part of his brain started calculating, but he shut it off. "At least. I'm not trying to argue I deserve it, Lisbon. We both know I don't. And I'm sorry. I'm not good at expressing it, but I am grateful for everything you've done for me, all the sacrifices you've made."

She eyed him suspiciously. "That's it?"

"I am curious about how you'll explain it to everyone, since you won't want to admit risking my life by not calling for help. If you didn't do it to protect my job, why did you? Were you hoping I'd die?"

"No!"

"You were keeping your options open, then. So there must have been something I could have done or said that would have made you believe I wouldn't try it again." He thought for a moment. "Did you hear me? Is that why you came up here?"

"Hear you?"

"I certainly made enough noise in the hallucination. Was I yelling your name?"

"No." Despite her anger, she couldn't help being curious and a little concerned. "Why? Did you hallucinate me?"

"Your head." He closed his eyes as the searing pain of the moment he'd seen and believed it slammed back into him. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down. "Red John brought it to me in a box. I was...less enthused than he hoped. Though I believe he enjoyed the full-on screaming breakdown I treated him to before he fled my attempt to strangle him."

She folded her arms, but her eyes had softened. "And you think telling me this will make me feel sorry for you?"

"I hope it will help you believe I am done experimenting with mind-altering substances. I hope it will help you not worry about me so much, because you've done enough of that for a lifetime. And even though I am an ungrateful jerk, that does mean something to me, Lisbon."

"Oh, shut up, Jane," she sighed. She closed her eyes. "After two thousand chances, what's one more?" Then she pinned him with a death glare. "But I meant what I said earlier. If you ever put the team at risk because you're high, I will make sure it is the last mistake you ever make."

He got to his feet, careful to keep the triumph out of his smile. It wasn't hard, since relief was the major element of his current emotional mix. That, and regret. "Thank you, Lisbon. And I really am sorry. It was stupid, and I should have thought about how you'd feel."

"Why start now?" she sighed.

"Hey. I tried to save you from a terrible crick in your neck this morning," he pointed out.

She blushed, and he bit back a grin. Waking up in his arms after being furious with and frightened for him wasn't the first case of emotional whiplash he'd given her, but the cumulative effect of being afraid for his life twice in two days and the anxiety of his long absence before that had overwhelmed her temporarily. He was grateful it didn't happen more often, but then, he certainly gave her enough opportunities to build up her tolerance.

"Can I buy you breakfast?" It seemed like the least he could do.

She looked at her watch and gasped. "Crap! You can bring me breakfast after we both go home and change." She turned to go.

"Lisbon," he called. When she turned back around, he picked up the bag of tea and held it out to her. "So you won't worry."

"Like you can't just get more where that came from. You do realize you're handing a controlled substance to a cop?" But she took the bag anyway.

"No," he replied. "I'm asking my friend for help avoiding temptation." He reached out his hand and rested it against the side of her neck, feeling her swallow reflexively, then ran his thumb along her jawline. She didn't move away from his touch, and he could see her pulse speed up and her pupils dilate. But her deer-in-the-headlights stillness warned him not to push further. He swallowed the mad impulse to press his lips against that pulse in her neck and stepped back, smiling gently. "But it's not much of a temptation, given how much I prefer seeing your head attached to your body."

She shook her head. "Jane, as much as it freaked you out seeing my head in a box, it was much worse for me finding you last night. Because I knew I wasn't hallucinating. Please don't put me through that again."

"I won't. Not on purpose, anyway," he added. "And thank you for not giving up on me." He hesitated, then decided he wanted the hug even though she'd probably think he was manipulating her. She didn't resist, but it took her a few seconds to hug him back. He was always surprised at how good she felt in his arms, which was one reason he rarely indulged himself.

"Are you sniffing my hair?" she demanded, pulling back.

"Why use a scented shampoo if you don't want people sniffing your hair?" he asked, keeping the laughter out of his voice.

"Because I like the way it smells," she retorted. "Come on. We can't both wear the same clothes to work two days in a row."

He was proud of himself for not saying any of the clever remarks that occurred to him as he followed her down the stairs. Maybe he was developing a sense of self-preservation after all these years. Maybe that was what his subconscious was trying to tell him, using Charlotte as the carrot and Lisbon's head in a box as the stick? It occurred to him that it might be useful to get the opinion of someone who knew him almost as well as he did.

"Lisbon, do you think I should give up?"

She turned her head to look back at him so fast she nearly tripped on the bottom stair. He read her simultaneous thoughts: What the hell? and But giving up means leaving! Being Lisbon, she said something else entirely. "I'd never tell you to give up, Jane. But what I would tell you, what I have been telling you, is that there needs to be more to your life than chasing Red John. You need something to make you happy. You've given him ten years-how much longer are you going to let him hold your happiness hostage?"

He hadn't thought about it that way before. He'd need to mull that question over to come up with an answer. She seemed to accept that as she pressed the elevator button.

"I'll meet you back here," he said. "We don't want to be on the security cameras leaving together at this hour. People might get the wrong idea."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I care about gossip."

He chuckled. "But you do care that people might think you're crazy enough to sleep with me. In the office." He leaned in close to her ear and dropped his voice into a register he knew would make her shiver. "Even though you just did."

The shiver was gratifying. The sharp elbow in the ribs, less so. The elevator opened, and she stabbed a finger at him as she got in. "You owe me breakfast, remember. Something good. Not doughnuts."

He grinned at her as the doors slid shut and turned to head for the gym showers. That would be faster, and he'd have time to hit the little cafe two blocks over. Something with eggs, he thought. Something that would say thank you for turning a horrible night into a beautiful one