AN: Thanks for the reviews, folks. I appreciate them! Now, I'll shut up so you can figure out what happened to our beloved Cho.

The Problem With Atonement

Chapter Two

He hated hospitals.

Hated the way they smelled, hated the perpetual fluorescent lights, the rattle of death and sickness that hung around the hallways.

Next to him, Lisbon was sipping what he thought was her fourth cup of coffee. It had the consistency of burnt mud, but she didn't appear to notice or care.

Fischer and Abbott were somewhere close by, the former pacing the contours of the room, the latter making phone calls.

Wylie was sitting in a corner, head bowed over his smart phone. Jane didn't know what he was doing, would probably not have understood even if Wylie explained it in detail.

The single bullet that could change all of their lives had entered the upper left part of Cho's chest. It had been a clean shot, as most shots made with that sort of weapon were, but it was still deadly serious.

Cho had been in surgery for over two hours now, long enough for the adrenaline to wear off and for the stress and exhaustion to take over. There was nothing as trying as waiting on news for things that couldn't be controlled.

He took Lisbon's hand, warm from holding her bad coffee.

She leaned against his shoulder sighing deeply.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to her hair. "Cho's a machine. The doctors are probably just trying to figure out where the motherboard goes."

He was rewarded with a very small smile. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you know what a motherboard is?"

In point of fact, he wasn't quite sure, but it sounded like a good term to throw out. "I'm continually seeking to impress you with my knowledge, my dear."

Lisbon rested more of her weight against him. "What the hell is going on, Jane?"

It was his turn to sigh. "Now that's something I don't know." He'd been thinking of little else since they arrived. Well, that, and Cho's chances of survival. "Revenge? For what?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. There's always the chance that this was random, that a sniper just decided to start picking people off one night, but that seems pretty unlikely."

It had happened before, true, but he didn't think that was the case now. "I agree. Very unlikely. There was a reason it was Cho, a reason it was a group of FBI agents."

"Did it have to be Cho or would any of us have worked just as well?" she wondered.

They had played this game many times before when working out motive and suspects. They had never played it about a team member. Well, Lisbon had, he supposed, when he had been kidnapped by the daughter of a murderer. Though he usually enjoyed the mental exercise, he found this was not a particular game he wanted to play.

"Any of the FBI? Or any of the FBI members who happened to be CBI agents in a former life?" No one had wanted to bring that up, but it needed said.

"Arguments for CBI?" Lisbon asked, her tone a little resigned.

"Statistically, we've solved many more crimes in California. Therefore, there are many more potentially disgruntled folks." It was true.

"Against?"

He held up his free hand helplessly. "Well, we're in Texas. And we were out with FBI agents. Also, if someone was gunning down CBI personnel, I flatter myself that I would have been the target."

Lisbon snorted. "You have a very good point with that last one."

He knew what they were leaving unspoken - whoever took the shot could have been aiming for him and had simply missed.

She stood, stretching. He watched openly, appreciatively. Even under the circumstances, she was beautiful.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom," she told him, tossing her now-empty coffee cup into the trash. "Need anything while I'm gone?"

He held her gaze for a moment. "Just for you to come back quickly."

Her answering smile was soft, even if he could see the strain around the edges.

When she was out of his sight, he ran his hands down his face in frustration. He usually had no problem with waiting; it was an entirely different story tonight. All he'd wanted was to go home with Lisbon, to just be with her.

He was visited by the idiotic notion that this was somehow his fault - he was expecting to be happy, and the universe had paid him back for his moment of optimism.

A half hour after Lisbon returned, the surgeon emerged, face stoic, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his lab coat. On his left, he felt Lisbon tense.

"Barring complications, he'll pull through," was the first thing out of the doctor's mouth, and the relief that swept the room was nearly palpable. Jane appreciated that the man didn't mince words. "He did lose a lot of blood, but miraculously, nothing vital was hit. He's going to hurt like hell for a while, but all things considered, that's fairly minor."

They were allowed to see Cho briefly when he was settled in recovery, but as he hadn't woken up, it was essentially pointless. However, Jane knew it made everyone else feel better to be able to physically see the other man was still breathing. There had been a few very tense moments at the crime scene earlier, and reassurance was nice.

It was almost two in the morning when he and Lisbon stumbled through her front door, operating almost completely on autopilot. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't even asked if he could stay.

Lisbon flipped on lights as she walked through the house, letting out a mingled sob and groan when she walked into her bedroom.

"What?" he asked in concern, standing behind her.

"I still have to make the goddamn bed," she grumbled. "I never got around to it yesterday."

He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of all the things... Then again, this was probably akin to the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Go shower," he told her, squeezing her shoulders. "Let me worry about this."

It was a mark of how tired she was that she didn't even argue.

When she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, hair falling down her back in damp tendrils, face entirely bare of makeup, the sheets were expertly folded down, and she looked ready to fall over.

He grabbed a quick shower himself, self-consciously pulling on pajama pants for the first time in what seemed like ages.

Lisbon wasn't asleep when he made it to bed, something he'd half-expected. Instead, she turned to him as he slid beneath the comforter, arms already open.

He thought the weight of her against his chest was the most comforting thing in the world. She smelled like vanilla and her shampoo, skin like velvet under his fingertips.

By all rights, he should have drifted off almost immediately. She did, he could tell by her breathing, but he laid awake for some time, marveling in the moment. He had wanted this for so long, wanted her warmth, that it seemed almost impossible that they were both here. Perhaps he would wake up with his arms around a pillow again - that had happened more times than he cared to admit.

One of her legs hooked over both of his, and he kissed the top of her head.

Belatedly, he realized he hadn't told her he loved her since that morning. An egregious error, certainly, but he was quite positive she wouldn't thank him for waking her up just yet. In fact, she might just punch him in the nose, and he remembered all too well what that felt like.

Instead, he shifted his hold on her, sliding his hands under her shirt to touch the bare skin of her back for the very first time. He loved this, loved touching her openly. Loved it even more when he could do something that was above and beyond any friendly or platonic touch.

There was no more need to be so very careful about everything, and the change was freeing.

Today hadn't necessarily been a good day. No matter what else had happened, Cho's injury would forever classify the day as bad.

But he wasn't alone. Didn't have to be alone.

And that was worth something.

When he woke, Lisbon had turned on to her side, both of her arms wrapped around one of his. The alarm clock told him it was nearly time to get up, but he stayed put. He could have started her coffee, but he decided seeing her wake up was much more important.

There was a deep sense of peace and rightness here, as though they were utterly safe from the world inside these walls.

He had missed her so much these past few years. Looking back, he was amazed at how he had managed to stay away for so long.

He had daydreamed about a thousand different scenarios when he was in exile - everything from Lisbon just appearing on the beach to jumping on a plane and surprising her when she got off work. The last one would always make him a little sad - he didn't know where she worked now, didn't know where she lived, couldn't picture her in her surroundings.

She stirred, tensing slightly as she woke, then relaxing again when she realized where she was.

He turned towards her, pressing a soft kiss behind her ear. He could see the curve of her cheek as she smiled.

"Good morning," he said warmly.

"'Morning," she returned, snuggling deeper in his embrace.

He had always had a suspicion that Lisbon would be a cuddler, but it was wonderful being proven right.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

She was still smiling. "Very well, thank you." Then she paused. "Well, for all four hours that I actually got to sleep."

He chuckled at the annoyance that crept in to her tone. "I understand that. I vote that we try this again tonight, and hope for better results."

Her fingers laced with his. "What is it with you and good ideas lately?"

"My ideas are always good," he argued, her hair in his nose. She just smelled so good.

Her phone rang, and he felt the sudden and immediate tension.

Ten seconds later, his went off as well.

It was work, Fischer on his line, Abbott on hers.

Cho had made it through the night with no complications, an excellent piece of news. They were being summoned in early to begin work on their new and incredibly important case. It was imperative to figure out who was behind this. Either way - random shooting or specific targeting of FBI agents - someone was on the lose with a sniper rifle.

He was dressed before Lisbon, and she inspected his outfit as she hastily stuck some earrings in, hair swept up in a ponytail.

Dubiously, she fingered the collar of his shirt. "Really, Jane? Do you have anything else?"

He went with hurt. "What? You don't like my shirt?"

"You need to go shopping," she said matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, Lisbon. I'll just pop over to the mall in between finding out who tried to kill Cho and then making sure you're not going to starve here if I leave you alone." She still didn't have any food in the kitchen. He'd had some vague idea about running through a grocery store after their drinks last night, but of course, that hadn't happened.

She made a face at him, but didn't pull away when he slid a hand beneath her chin, tipping her up for a slow kiss. She tasted like toothpaste and Lisbon and he groaned when her fingers slid into his hair. His hands fell to her hips, bringing her closer.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and she was suddenly toying with the buttons on his shirt.

They needed to slow down, needed to take a step back...

"God, Patrick," she whispered when he found a particular sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She grabbed a handful of his shirt. "I think I could rip this off you."

He tried to grin at her, desire surging. His hands slid to her backside, bringing her flush against him. "Not enough time," he murmured, though he was pretty sure it wouldn't take long. "And besides, this shirt's handmade. I'd have to go back to Venezuela to get another one."

Her hands slid back into his hair, pulling their lips together almost fiercely, tongue demanding entrance. "You'd better fucking not," she hissed, in between possessive kisses.

"Don't worry," he tried to tell her, when she let him breathe. "I'd take you with me."

Pacified, she loosened her grip, stepping back. He kissed her gently one last time, still trying to soothe her. Well, there was an issue, no doubt. They would get there. Little by little, they would dredge up all of the hurt they had both carried around all these years.

Just not this morning.

Despite the early hour, the FBI was nearly full. Everyone took the shooting of a fellow agent very seriously, and the whole place was on high alert.

Abbott called them all in for a meeting within ten minutes of their arrival.

"We found where our shooter was," he told them, the computer screens behind him changing to a satellite view of Austin. "We were here," he went on, and West Street Bar and Grill was suddenly circled in red. "Based on trajectory and ballistics, our shooter had to be here." The office building across the street was now in the foreground. "Six stories up," Abbott finished.

Fischer took over. "We got the call about ten minutes before we got a hold of you two," she nodded at them. "Head over to the scene and see if there's anything useful. I doubt it, but you just never know. Wylie is going to be pulling security footage from about an eight block radius, and we'll start going through it. We're also going through all the cases Cho has been involved in since he joined the FBI, see if anything stands out."

"Okay," he said, even as he suspected there was more to this than someone being upset with Cho. After all, they had to start somewhere.

Traffic was starting to pick up as they headed downtown. Lisbon was quiet, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

He wondered what would have happened if last night had gone as planned. Well, based on what they had been like this morning...

Silently, he took a deep breath, counted to fifty in Latin. It didn't help that he vividly remembered what her skin felt like under his hands, what she felt like pressed against his hardness, mouth moving insistently over his. He wanted to know what her breasts felt like his his hands, what she looked like when she came undone, if she would cry out his name.

Biofeedback, he reminded himself, but his brain felt like it was covered in a haze.

He managed to get a grip on himself when they parked alongside the nondescript office building their sniper had waited at. It wasn't difficult now - he had seen Cho covered in too much blood here just last night, had thought he was going to be losing one of his closest friends, and one of the few people he trusted.

There was yellow crime scene tape across the door of room 1693, FBI agents swarming the halls.

"The place is just empty office space right now," one of the field agents told Lisbon. "The last occupants moved elsewhere about six months ago."

Lisbon was clearly thinking, but she remained silent as they crossed to look out the sliding windows. The bar's patio was clearly visible. The angle was right, and he felt a little uneasy. Someone had stood here less than twelve hours ago, very much intent on taking at least one life.

"Not a professional," Lisbon murmured, head tilted as she looked down. She was taking the shot in her mind. Judging by her statement, she thought she wouldn't have missed. "Too close for a pro to not get a kill shot. Besides, Cho had been standing in the same spot for a few minutes. Plenty of time to get sighted in."

Her eyes were steely, and he knew she was in full-blown professional mode.

She looked again. "You know, not even was this not done by an expert, this was someone who hadn't even had a ton of practice."

That was heartening. It meant that there was a better chance this person, whoever they were, would make a mistake.

"Agent Lisbon." Jane recognized the agent from earlier approaching them, clad in the standard blue FBI jacket. "We just spoke to the building manager again. He's sent all the security footage in to our offices. Also, the crime scene guys found a bullet casing with a partial print on it."

Jane blinked. "Well, that would just be entirely too convenient, wouldn't it?"

The man ignored him. "It might not be enough to get a match, but it's better than nothing."

"Maybe," Jane amended, contrary nature rising to the surface. Lisbon poked him in the ribs.

He winced, then stepped away for a better look at the space they were in. It did indeed look just like discarded office space. Except... he frowned, looking closer.

There was a desk off to the side, nothing noteworthy about that. Except for it was remarkably dust free.

Methodically, he began going through drawers. There was a notepad in one drawer. Feeling a bit like a cheesy spy, he fished out a pencil and lightly rubbed it over the top page. Letters started to appear, and it took him a moment to put them together.

"Lisbon," he called, "come over here."

She did, eyebrows furrowed. She walked faster when she caught sight of his expression.

"What?"

He gestured at the paper in his hands. "Anything look familiar?"

She scanned the letters and numbers. When her eyes got about half down the page, she understood. "Shit," she hissed.

"Indeed," he deadpanned.

She was looking at a list of license plate numbers. Halfway down was her SUV. Towards the bottom, he recognized the Airstream plates. And right at the top were Cho's.

"Abbott?" she asked. "Fischer? Wylie? I don't know their plate numbers."

He shook his head. "I, of course, do." And he did. It was an old habit, started back in his days with the carnival. It was important not to pull the same tricks twice, and remembering every license plate helped with that. It had translated to his adult life, but he generally just made a point of knowing his co-workers' vehicles. "They're not on here."

She sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. "Well, that answers one question."

He nodded, smiling grimly. "Lucky us."

"The other plates on that list," she began. "Who do those cars belong to?"

He shrugged. "I don't know that. It won't be hard to find out though."

When they exited the building, he caught Lisbon surreptitiously looking around. It didn't take a genius to know what she was doing, and he felt goosebumps crawl up his spine.

The warmth of her bed seemed an eternity ago.

Someone was out to get the CBI. Again.

Apparently, they didn't get the memo that there wasn't a CBI anymore.

Perhaps they did, and just wanted to make sure that even the memory of what once was California's best law enforcement agency was wiped from the earth.

Either way, he wondered when the past was going to let him go.

He hoped he would still be alive to enjoy it.