Till the red morning light

A/N: Because I am a sleep-deprived idiot, I completely forgot to thank my beta in the previous chapter. And I'm starting with that now, because she deserves more than just my gratitude for always doing such a good job. So Autumn (watchyouwalk), a huge thank you yet again, for wanting to proofread this and for your general support/awesomeness ;)

Thank you as well to everyone who reviewed the previous instalment; it's much appreciated and you've all made me smile. I hope you'll enjoy this next one too, even though it's slightly less...upbeat :p This chapter is also a response to a prompt over at Livejournal's mentalistprompt community, which was: gunshot.

Spoilers: An extremely brief reference to 2x03.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to Mumford & Sons. Title stolen from Kings of Leon.

-xxx-

Winter

I struggle to find any truth in your lies

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know

My weakness I feel I must finally show

.

The first thing he becomes aware of when he slowly regains consciousness is her.

His eyes are closed, head throbbing violently, and he doesn't have the slightest clue of where he is, but he knows Lisbon is close by. Faint traces of her perfume linger in the air around him, quelling the initial fear caused by his unknown whereabouts. Instinctively, he knows he's safe if he's in her presence.

Slowly, bits and pieces from the past week's events start resurfacing in his mind, but he pushes the chaotic images aside, instead focussing what little energy he has on trying to open his eyes. With heavy eyelids, it takes a considerable amount of effort to even stay awake. The room he finds himself in is darkened, illuminated only through the soft glow of a few lamps that are barely visible behind the row of expensive machinery. Steady beeps seem to echo loudly in the space around him. Upon noticing an open case file on the corner table, he tries turning his head further to the right but is immediately greeted with a sharp pain, momentarily blinding him.

His gaze falls on her sleeping form, spreading a feeling of warmth inside him he hadn't anticipated. She's tucked into a very uncomfortable-looking chair, which has been pushed closer, head resting on her arms as she lies sleeping on the side of his bed.

He tries to speak before realising he's absolutely parched, mouth so dry it becomes impossible to utter a single word. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand inching closer to Lisbon's even though there's a strain in his shoulder, making the movement difficult and painful. It's the faintest touch, his fingers barely landing on top of hers, but she stirs immediately, waking up with a jolt.

For a moment, she appears speechless, varying emotions crossing her face. Jane doesn't catch most of them through the thick fog clouding his brain, which leaves him feeling annoyed and out of his element. Yet, the concern in her eyes is unmistakable, as is the relief that visibly washes over her when she finds him staring back, a million questions reflected in his gaze. Involuntarily, her eyes well up as a result of too much sleep deprivation and emotion coursing through her.

"Oh, thank God," she whispers quietly, subconsciously touching the pendant around her neck.

She leans closer, instinctively putting a hand on his to study him more closely.

"Hey," she breathes, a shaky smile playing on her lips. One he can't return, though it's not for lack of trying.

Frown lines appear as her features settle into another worried look, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

"I should go find a doctor or nurse to take a look at you. I'll be right back, okay?"

She's already pulling away, but is surprised to find his hand suddenly clutching hers, refusing to let go. When she looks into his eyes, the sight almost leaves her breathless. There haven't been many times in the past when she's seen Jane look at her so unguarded and sincere, but a slight touch of panic alerts her that he most likely has no idea what's going on.

She squeezes his hand, reassuring him that everything will be all right while fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his cheek in a more soothing manner. She offers up a small smile, quickly stepping out the door before he can stop her.

And all Jane can think before he slips back into sleep's comforting oblivion is how much colder this hospital room suddenly feels without her in it.

-xxx-

The next time he wakes up, light pours in through the large windows, and she's not there.

The fog has seemingly lifted from his mind for the time being, though a dull ache in his head remains. Various scenes start replaying before his eyes as he closes them again. The Cooper case: a teenage girl who had been found strangled in her own bed, seemed easy enough to solve. Jane quickly figured out she'd had a college boyfriend nobody knew a thing about, and when mommy and daddy had gone away for the weekend, things had gotten out of hand. Emily hadn't known her Mr Perfect had a jealous streak or a history of violent tendencies that apparently ran in his family. So when a male friend had dropped her off at home, giving a friendly goodbye hug, she couldn't possible have expected it would make Jason Tanner snap. Lisbon and the rest of the team tracked the suspect to an old lodge in the middle of the woods that belonged to his grandparents.

Not knowing how big of a liability the guy would turn out to be, she told Jane to stay put in the car while they went in to make the arrest.

He hadn't listened.

It's not as if he deliberately chose to disobey her, but the grounds around the lodge were far too beautiful to leave unexplored. And he didn't expect the arrest to be in the least bit difficult. He doesn't know what led to his current injuries, but at some point he heard gunshots from inside and moments later a tall, bulky-looking guy came running around the corner, catching sight of him.

Jane had the right reflex of putting his hands in the air, trying to convey that he was unarmed. However, the minute he laid eyes on the gun-wielding boy, a wild look on his face, eyes darting in every direction rapidly, he belatedly realised it would be of no use. Jason Tanner was high as a kite and would've taken down anyone that stood in his way.

Unfortunately, that someone was him.

He can't remember the sound of the gun being fired, or the bullet hitting him square in the chest – it all happened too fast. He doesn't recall Lisbon, in hot pursuit of the suspect, coming to a standstill at the sight of him on the ground, an ever-expanding bloodstain soaking through his shirt. But he remembers opening his eyes, seeing her hovering over him, an unidentifiable look etched across her face. He remembers his body going numb, detaching from the pain that burned all the way through him. And Lisbon's face becoming a blur, no longer seeing her clearly, causing panic to wash over him like a tidal wave.

"Jane?"

Her voice swims under the surface of his consciousness, slowly pulling him out of his dream-like state before he has time to puzzle the forgotten pieces back together.

"Jane?" She repeats, her worried whisper carrying softly through the air.

He opens his eyes slowly, immediately searching for hers. She has a coffee in one hand with her Blackberry in the other, and it's only now, in the clear light of day, that Jane can truly see her. In the dimness before, the bags underneath her eyes and the unusually pale colour of her face were in disguise, but her exhaustion is more obvious now.

He doesn't miss the fact that she's wearing last night's outfit, which provides him with a bit of hope that he hasn't completely lost his observational skills. It also means that she only left in search of a much needed dose of caffeine and likely spent the night by his side. That knowledge stirs something deep inside him, unexpectedly tugging on his heartstrings.

A smile graces her features as she finds his eyes trained on her.

"You're awake," she simply states, keeping her voice carefully toneless now.

She walks closer to the bed, suddenly a bit reluctant, not knowing quite how to start.

"How are you feeling?"

It's a simple enough question, yet he has no idea of its answer. There are a million different thoughts running through his head. Frail, flickering images he's trying to link together. He attempts to clear his throat but doesn't produce more than a low grumble, causing her to reach for the glass on his bedside table, gently raising it to his lips. The fresh, cold water offers instant relief.

"The doctor said you'll probably be groggy for a few days, so he advises you to rest as much as possible. He'll be in to check on you regularly."

Jane still discerns traces of worry and anxiety in her eyes when she sits down on the edge of his bed. Another memory suddenly flashes through his mind of him lying on a gurney as it's being pushed inside the ambulance, someone's warm hand tightly gripping his. It's a fleeting moment – just a brief flicker that doesn't last longer than a second – leaving him to wonder if it's not purely a figment of his imagination. He tries to make out more, but his mind won't cooperate and only darkness follows.

"You look like hell," he creaks, turning his attention back to Lisbon.

"Gee, thanks for the compliment. You don't look so hot yourself right now, you know."

"Well yea, but I've been shot," he points out. "Occupational hazard."

She smirks, accompanied by a light shake of her head. "Leave it to you to be flippant in a situation like this."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 2:00 pm."

"Shouldn't you be at the office?"

"Not really," she shrugs. "The Cooper case is closed; Cho easily managed to get a confession out of the kid, and we're not on anything new yet. So it's basically just the paperwork now, which I'm perfectly capable of doing here."

"You seem exhausted," he observes when meeting her gaze.

"I'm fine," she counters.

"No use in hiding things from me, Lisbon. You should know better by now. I am completely attuned to your every mood, so when you don't feel good, I don't feel good."

"You probably don't feel good for an entirely different reason. And excuse me for thinking you being seriously injured takes precedence over how I'm feeling," she retorts sarcastically.

"How I'm feeling is never more important," he simply states. "Besides, I'm bored already; you're my only form of entertainment."

"The last thing you need right now is entertainment," she says matter-of-factly.

He tries to shift his position, but the entire right side of his body seems to be weighed down, making him grimace in pain. He lets out a frustrated sigh at his current inability to even move an inch and Lisbon gets up, slightly alarmed.

"Do you need me to call a nurse?"

He shakes his head, though it's not at all convincing. She isn't the only one who's exhausted, even though all he's been doing is sleeping. He opens his mouth to ask exactly how long he'll be incapacitated, but she puts a hand on his arm, shooting him a small smile.

"All this talking is using up energy you can't spare. Just lie back and relax for awhile, okay? I'll call the guys and give them an update on things."

Solely for the reason of proving her wrong, he fully intends to stay awake and ask her about the details of the arrest and his injuries when she returns. Yet, when she walks back in five minutes later, he has already given in to the overwhelming desire of closing his eyes.

-xxx-

Lisbon stays with him for the remainder of the day, clearly comfortable at the corner table with various files and papers spread around her. When her Blackberry starts vibrating, slowly moving across the table, she takes the call, and he can tell by her body language that it's Cho, probably informing her about a new case. He notices she's deliberately keeping it vague, no doubt trying to confirm her earlier statement that they can do without her at HQ for a change. Though she seemingly brushed it off as being unimportant, Jane knows she's most likely running behind on follow-up work because of him and his current predicament. The realisation evokes a whole new wave of guilt that washes over him as he involuntarily reflects on past moments when he misbehaved, always causing her the most trouble of all. Concluding that the list is endless doesn't really help improve his mood.

"You're doing it again," she suddenly remarks without taking her eyes off the paper in front of her. He didn't even realise she'd ended the call.

"Doing what?"

She looks up with a teasing smile on her lips. "You're staring."

"Well, there's not much else to do, Lisbon," he sighs, choosing not to mention at this time that he quite likes the view anyway.

"You should go home," he says quietly after a moment's contemplation, trying to disguise his genuine concern.

"Is this how you usually treat company?"

He chuckles lightly, but she can tell there's not much enthusiasm behind it. "It'll do you good to get a decent night's sleep in an actual bed."

Lisbon observes him for a minute, silently wondering if he'd like some time to himself or if there's another reason she's not aware of. Whether he's at CBI or somewhere else, when he's not with her or the team, he's always alone, which is a feeling she knows all too well. However, the thought of him in this room alone with his thoughts doesn't sound appealing, and it leaves her with a sense of dread.

"I don't mind staying," she eventually replies.

"I know."

And the fact that he does, that it seems to be such a given she's there and probably has been these past three days, causes a long-forgotten emotion to resurface. It's an emotion he doesn't quite know how to handle anymore, or how to make sense of. The sheer exhaustion radiating from her small frame as she sits before him is a clear indication that she needs to rest. Lisbon detects an almost melancholy expression in his eyes all of a sudden; a certain sorrowful quality, like someone who's just received troubling news and is wondering how to come to terms with it.

A small, sad smile crosses his lips.

"But I'll still be here tomorrow," he adds.

Lisbon nods, as if it's the only reassurance she'll ever need.

Running a hand through her hair before standing up, the overnight bag next to her chair catches her attention. Picking it up and walking closer to his bed, she clears her throat.

"I didn't know where you-," she breaks off, awkwardly fiddling with the zipper. "I bought you a change of clothes."

He follows her gaze, curiosity immediately reaching a peak as he contemplates the items that might actually be in there. It's quickly followed by the realisation that she didn't have any other option since she has no idea where he goes after hours.

"They didn't have any three piece suits though, sorry." She jokingly says in an attempt to lighten the sudden, serious atmosphere in the room, not sure how it managed to appear out of nowhere.

"Thanks," he says appreciatively, clearly surprised at the gesture.

She's putting on her coat, deciding she won't be able to coax any more out of him now, which is probably for the best given his current condition. Mildly amused at the curious glances he keeps shooting at the bag, she gives him one last, stern look.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. And Jane…," she trails off. "I know you – and I know what a bad patient you can be – so don't make these people's lives miserable. They're only here to help and to do their jobs."

"Why am I getting a lecture? I'm the one who's hurt! Besides, I haven't even done anything," he says indignantly, pretending to sulk.

"Well, this is to stop you from trying. I mean it, Jane. Best behaviour only."

He's tempted to stick out his tongue, but chooses to send her off with a smirk instead. It's not until much later, when he's looking through the bag in search of pyjamas and discovers a few pairs of black boxers instead, that the smile taking over his entire face is undeniably a genuine one.

-xxx-

It didn't take him long to put his carefully constructed mask back in place, Lisbon notes wryly. Upon returning next day, she instantly becomes aware of the change in his entire demeanour. He's guarded, aloof and on edge – not surprising given his current surroundings and how much he hates being here.

While the doctor and nurses bustle around him once more, she stays by the window, looking down at the little playground beneath where several children are playing happily, braving the cold and blissfully unaware of the general sadness lingering all around them. Sometimes she wishes she could go back to those carefree days as a child, when everything was still black and white and shades of grey simply didn't exist.

She quickly leaves all thoughts of the past behind when the doctor addresses them both, giving an update on Jane's condition. But she doesn't catch half of it, too busy watching the man in front of her as he stares off into the distance, not bothering to dignify either of them with a reaction. His eyes have lost their focus, leaving her to wonder what could possibly be running through his mind, though she has a pretty good idea. She knows experiences like these – being shot and very nearly killed – are traumatic for anyone, even if said trauma only manifests itself later on. Yet, something tells her Jane will, as usual, try to be the exception, and he'll simply pretend everything's perfectly fine.

She snaps back to attention as the attending physician informs them he's steadily improving and should be allowed to go home by the weekend. But not before suggesting a round of therapy before going back to the office, which sets off alarm bells in Lisbon's mind, and she mentally braces herself for what she knows is coming.

Jane, however, doesn't seem to register any of it, choosing to uphold his indifference as his gaze travels everywhere but in her direction. She thanks the doctor before he leaves, slowly but deliberately walking closer to the bed.

"It's standard procedure in these cases." She doesn't beat around the bush, knowing he's well aware she's referring to the proposed counselling. "And the CBI, as you know, fully supports that. It might do you some good, you know, talking about it to a third party." She keeps her voice neutral, already expecting the difficult discussion that's sure to follow.

"Of course, because that's always the answer. Talking about your feelings," he scoffs sarcastically. "Have you forgotten how well that worked out for you last time?"

She decides to ignore his comment, clearly recognising it for what it is; just an attempt at changing the subject and turning the spotlight onto her. Except she's not the one lying in a hospital bed after suffering an almost-fatal injury.

"Jane, you almost died. It's bound to mess with your head. You're just not thinking straight right now."

"Is that so?" He raises one eyebrow, and a small, condescending smile appears on his face, infuriating her while he still refuses to make eye contact.

"Yes." She crosses her arms defiantly. "You think it makes you strong, suffering in silence, bearing the burden alone?" She continues. "So what if it does? What's the advantage of being strong? It won't protect you against all harm; you're not invincible just because you carry some self-made shield around you. There are still dangerous people out there, who'll lash out uncontrollably and hurt you."

"And you think talking to a shrink is going to help any of that?" He finally turns toward her, his expression unchanged, and the hint of mocking that's clearly distinguishable in his voice only fuels her anger.

"Why not? You obviously won't talk to me." She doesn't bother hiding the accusation in her eyes as she fixes him with a hard stare.

"I saw a therapist for months, Lisbon. I stopped when I realised there was no fixing the broken parts."

After a moment's pause, her quiet voice fills the air, no more than a whisper.

"Some things are worth fixing."

He pauses before answering, looking at her intently. Even though there are no signs of her words having any effect on him whatsoever, they echo in his head, and the hidden hurt in her voice cuts through his heart.

"I'm not," he says softly, but his words are like a slap to the face all the same, causing anger to flare up inside her.

"Why can't you, just for once, be like everyone else?" she asks, frustration bubbling over.

"Because that would be incredibly boring."

"Like any other person who's just been shot?" she continues, undeterred.

"Oh please, please." He speaks harshly, fixing her with a stern look. "Spare yourself the trouble of trying to convince me that this is meant to be some cathartic experience which should have renewed my zest for life."

"You should be happy to be alive – ecstatic, even! And instead, you're sitting here, pouting like a child whose toy just got taken away. Are we actually back to this? Back to the whole 'Would it be so bad if I'd been killed' routine?"

"Would it?" he countered. "Better me than someone else on the team, at least they have something left worth living for. It would certainly take care of a few problems."

"You don't mean that. It wouldn't take care of anything. Nothing, Jane. What could it possibly solve?"

"You're right; that was a silly thing to say, even for me. I at least have to stay alive long enough to catch Red John, because whether I'm dead or not, he's going to keep on killing people," he says, as if he's merely stating the obvious.

Refusing to let the conversation drift off to that particular subject, she carries on, her voice hardening as she goes along. "You really think everyone would just be better off with you gone? Are you honestly still that selfish? What about the team? What about me?" she blurts out the last part.

"What about you?" he challenges after a moment's silence, though his tone of voice is suddenly much more gentle.

He's watching her intently, almost subconsciously willing her to speak her mind, to not hold anything back for once, and the faint sparkle in his eyes alerts her that he's waiting for her to challenge him right back. They never talk about this, preferring instead to keep dancing around certain subjects because it's easier. But apparently, they're still stuck in the same vicious circle where he will just go off on his own every time he feels like it and too bad if he gets hurt. And she'll never be okay with that. The fact that it could very well kill him – that he came so close to being killed a few days ago – has her more worried than she cares to admit. The feelings that rushed through her upon seeing him on the ground outside that lodge, taking in his horror-stricken look, are still clear in her mind. The image of him losing consciousness, slipping away from her despite her best efforts, keeps replaying like a movie she doesn't know how to pause.

"I thought-" She breaks off, frustrated at her own inability to say what needs to be said.

Thankfully, Rigsby chooses that exact moment to swing open the door and come barging in, allowing Lisbon to quickly regain control of her emotions.

"Hey hey, look who's up!" he greets Jane cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy."

Rigsby frowns, slightly confused by the apparent chill in Jane's tone of voice, and turns to Lisbon instead.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Lots of things," she deadpans.

"Yea, but I mean specifically."

"Oh nothing, he's just generally being a pain in the ass. We all know it's what he does best."

She doesn't take her eyes off Jane when saying this, trying to communicate he should stop his ridiculously childish behaviour, but he doesn't offer up any response whatsoever. She knows there are always good and bad days. Over the last few years, Lisbon has become quite the expert at reading his moods, usually quick to detect whether he's having a bad day or not. But that doesn't mean she's always able to figure out what triggers it. There's Red John, of course. That's pretty much a given – one would have to be blind not to notice the obvious shift in his behaviour whenever he's brought up or someone even dares to utter his name in Jane's presence. But there are more subtle triggers too. And it's the less obvious ones that intrigue her, which is why she's always on the look-out for them, trying to determine exactly what causes the dreaded change to occur. She realises half the time he's only putting up a front, hiding behind various masks, smoke curtains and tricks, but there are moments when it's all real too. When he's real. They're not as frequent, but they're there nonetheless. Even if she often struggles to tell the difference, she knows she's gotten better already over time.

Now, however, is one of those occasions when she can't tell what's bothering him in particular, when it's impossible to track his thoughts and know what's going through his mind. By all means, he should at least be happy to still be alive. She simply doesn't understand, and she's not sure she ever wants to. Not this side of him.

When Rigsby becomes aware of the mounting tension in the small hospital room, he breaks the uncomfortable silence, asking to speak to Lisbon privately before they both walk out into the hallway.

Somewhere at the back of Jane's mind, a little voice is telling him he's being unreasonable, and he shouldn't take his anger out on Lisbon by saying things he's not sure he even means. There was a time, not even very long ago, when he could've had this exact conversation with her and he would've meant every word.

But lately, he's become aware of the fact that his views are changing. While catching Red John is still his main priority, something's slowly changing; he's not as driven as he was even a couple of months ago and it unnerves him. No matter how much he tries to disguise that particular fact by lying to himself. By spewing harsh words that Lisbon always happens to be on the receiving end of. And though he has a pretty good idea of what's instigating this particular change, he refuses to acknowledge it. If he doesn't stay completely focussed on his quest for vengeance, there's a part of him that's afraid he won't know what to do or how to act. He doesn't remember how to do anything normal if it doesn't ultimately lead to his finding Red John.

"Was that really necessary?" Lisbon waltzes back in, Rigsby no longer by her side. "They all care about you, and that's how you react to their concern? You really are a jerk."

"Duly noted."

"Alright, you know what? Fine. Fine! Be that way." She walks across the room, angrily putting on her coat and gathering up her things. "You can sit here and act like a child all by yourself."

Not giving him a chance to reply, she turns around without another glance in his direction. She can't bear to just stand there and argue with him, trying to make a blind man see, and Jane wordlessly lets her leave.

He's always been a master at fooling everyone, even the most trained professionals. But right now he's not sure how much longer he can keep fooling himself.

-xxx-

Over the next few days, both Cho and Rigsby stop by twice, the latter sneaking in various amounts of food on each occasion for which Jane is more than grateful. Lisbon doesn't come back all week, and when Van Pelt pays him a visit, bringing an actual homemade chocolate cake, he can't stop himself from casually asking about her. She doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as she happily answers him that Lisbon is at the office, and seems to be back to her normal self. When he tries to pry for further information – particularly regarding the reason why she felt Lisbon hadn't been her usual self – they are interrupted by her cell phone ringing, and five minutes later he is alone once again.

The homemade cake is an incredibly sweet gesture, and he actually makes a mental note to thank Van Pelt again the minute he gets back to the office. It's hard to admit, but even despite the foul mood he's been in, he wishes she could've have stayed just a while longer.

Realising he brought all of this on himself does nothing to relieve him of this sudden feeling of emptiness inside. He's tired of everything; tired of the lousy hospital food, the nurses and doctors who keep breezing in and out. He's had it with being bed-ridden, bored and practically helpless because of one situation he hadn't been able to foresee. He's tired of everyone constantly tiptoeing around him, effectively treating him like a baby. But mostly, he's tired of trying to ignore the guilt that rises inside him when thinking of Lisbon, and the angry, hurt look that had crossed her face right before leaving. He can't even remember a time when he went more than two days without seeing or talking to her.

He knows it was her in the ambulance. He questioned one of the nurses endlessly until she finally gave up, promising she'd talk to one of the EMTs who had responded to the call. Apparently, Lisbon had been pretty adamant about staying with him, and even though he can't remember, she'd whispered things to him all the way to the hospital.

By now, virtually all of the staff on this floor know him to be in a constant grumpy, generally bad mood. They avoid him when they can, and he's convinced there's some sort of plot afoot to make his stay even more miserable. Yet, when the attending physician stops by to tell him he'll be discharged that very same afternoon, it's not enough to lighten his spirits.

A nurse stops by briefly to help him pack his things, but she has long given up on friendly chatter around him, enveloping the room in silence. The door swings open, and a wheelchair appears around the corner, immediately causing him to sit up straighter, ready to declare that he fully intends on walking out of this place, and he will use violence if necessary.

But the objection dies on his lips as he hears a very distinct muttering, followed seconds later by Lisbon's slightly flushed face coming into view as she tries to fit the wheelchair through the narrow door. The nurse runs over to give her a hand, positioning the insulting thing right next to his bed before exiting the room, leaving the both of them to stare at each other.

"As if I was going to let you take a cab," she answers the unspoken question in his eyes.

He knows an apology would probably be in order, first and foremost, and not only for the argument they had a couple of days ago. He's always been good with words, can easily make them serve his purpose, whatever it may be. But for some reason, that never translates into being able to express his feelings. Maybe that particular talent fails to function on the rare occasion he actually wants to be honest.

Lisbon stands before him somewhat impatiently, as if already expecting a struggle to get him out of this hospital without attracting too much attention to themselves.

"The doctor told me all the discharge papers have been taken care of, so…," she trails off, avoiding eye contact this time. "You're a free man. I'll take you home."

She turns to look at him before adding, "And I'm really hoping I won't have to point my gun at you to get you into this wheelchair. It's just to take you to the car and I don't care what you say, I'm not taking no for an answer."

He can't help but fight a smile when he wonders why she decided to sign herself up for the task if she considers it to be impossible. He takes her by surprise by rising off the bed slowly and gently sitting himself down.

Lisbon looks dumbfounded for no more than a brief second before she turns around and dumps the bag with his personal things into his lap. If she notices he's wearing the surprisingly comfy pair of jeans she bought him, she doesn't show it.

"Thank you," she simply states.

"Meh, I figured it was time to put my pride behind me."

"Ha!" She lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Now there's a good joke if I ever heard one."

He notices her Mustang in the parking lot immediately. It's a Saturday afternoon, and though he wasn't entirely sure she had this one off, her showing up here in her own car definitely proves it, causing a surge of warmth to spread through him on this cold day.

"You couldn't have brought the SUV instead of your car?" His voice is laced with mock-exasperation. "It would've been so much easier to get into."

"Oh, shut up, Jane. You know, it wouldn't kill you to show a little gratitude every once in awhile."

She's pushing his wheelchair, carefully manoeuvring across the lot and between cars, so she's unable to see the huge smile that's slowly spreading across his face. He doesn't stop to think about the fact that ever since she showed up, his mood seems to have improved significantly.

As he stands up to get into the car, he grimly notices that the strain hasn't completely left the right side of his body, making it difficult to walk without limping.

The drive back from the hospital turns out to be relatively short as he gives her directions to his apartment downtown. They don't talk much, each immersed in their own thoughts, but it's far from uncomfortable. Jane chooses this moment to reflect on the brunette sitting next to him, who's expertly weaving through the busy afternoon traffic. He can tell by her entire demeanour that she's still somewhat upset with him. Yet, when she parks in front of his apartment building, she wordlessly walks around to his side, helping him out of the car.

His left arm is resting on her shoulders, and she's neatly tucked into him, arm circled around his waist in an attempt to keep him steady as they exit the elevator. Coming to a standstill in front of his door, he reaches for his keys while she slowly slips out of his grasp, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he opens up the door.

He walks in, trying to simultaneously stretch his right leg, when he notices she doesn't follow. This is the first time she's been here, seen the very existence of this apartment confirmed, a small fact that doesn't escape either of them. When he turns around, there's an indecipherable look in her eyes, and it's enough to take away any initial worries he might have had.

"Thank you, Lisbon," he looks down, fingering the keys in his hand absentmindedly. "I really appreciate you driving me home."

She gives a small nod as he takes a tentative step closer, still not quite sure how to address the issue. He knows he took it too far before, was well aware of the effect his words would have on her. But he'd been in too much of a bad mood, too stubborn to prevent them from slipping out. He meets her eye this time, hoping she'll see the truth in his statement.

"I didn't say any of those things to hurt you, I hope you know that."

It's not an apology, they both know that. But it's as close to one as she's going to get, and they both know that too.

"Would you like to come in?"

She hesitates, debating whether to let her curiosity get the better of her or just turn around and walk away, pleased to have done her duty as a friend but nothing more. She's still angry with him, and though she's usually not a quitter, a small part of her is still afraid that she's never going to be able to change him, so she might as well stop trying.

"Come on, Lisbon," he gently pleads. "I have that vanilla-flavoured tea you like."

Perhaps this is what ultimately wins her over; the simple fact that he appears to have stocked up on her favourite kind of tea, which he doesn't even drink. Or maybe it's because she actually catches the hint of vulnerability in his voice that he's trying to disguise by acting playful as usual. Regardless of the reason, she suddenly changes her mind, accepting his invitation as she walks past him.

When a thought suddenly occurs to her, she stops short in the middle of his hallway, turning around to face him.

"What I've been meaning to ask you...," she trails off, and Jane swears he can almost see a faint blush appear on her cheeks, though she's trying very hard to appear nonchalant. "When you were unconscious after your surgery, did you hear anything that went on around you? Anything I said?"

"Not that I recall. Why?" he asks, as much puzzled as he is intrigued.

"No reason," she quickly says. Too quickly. "Let's just say I may have used various methods to try and wake you up."

A small smirk graces her lips as she turns around and continues on into his living room, leaving him to stare after her with a grin on his face, a flutter of affection drifting through his heart.

And when he closes the door, he realises it's the first time in years that the dark days of winter seem to carry some light with them.

-xxx-