A short conclusion to my story. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and comments. I hope you enjoy!

Jane helped Lisbon back to her room – a worried looking Wylie trailing behind. Once he was sure that she was being watched by Cho and his young sidekick, Patrick made his way to the Rest Room to freshen up.

He was still extremely shaky and felt like he was ready to fall apart again at any moment. But he forced himself to hold it together. He had to be there for Teresa – he'd promised her and he was not going to go back on that. He had to somehow learn to deal with what life had given him, although he worried that he would never recapture the happiness he'd felt only a day ago.

He sometimes wished he did believe in an omnipotent being – and then he'd have someone he could rail at and curse. He wanted to blame someone for the situation he was now in, but there was no one. At least there was no one other than himself.

He sighed as he looked at his face in the mirror. He looked so old. His face was blotchy and looked puffy and swollen from all the crying.

He spent the next few minutes bathing his face in cold water, hoping to erase the evidence of his emotional breakdown. There was nothing he could do about his red eyes, but hopefully people would think it was because he was exhausted from having been up all night.

He slowly dried his face with paper towels – ugh – and made his way to the door. He paused, the idea of opening it and walking down the hallway almost more than he could handle. He just wanted to curl up and forget everything.

It was a feeling he'd experienced many times before but had hoped he would never feel again. This utter exhaustion, the inability to do anything, to make any decisions, the near paralysis – he knew all of those things were a sign of abject grief.

But life had to go on. He'd learned that lesson once before too, being forced to live when all he'd wanted to do was die. It was not as severe this time, although the thought of keeping going was something he didn't want to face.

He sighed and slowly reached down for the handle – but before he had a chance to touch it the door swung open, almost hitting him in the face.

"Oh – I'm sorry," a tall man in jeans and a tee-shirt almost bowled him over. "Sorry guy," he said again. "I almost got you there."

"T's'okay," he murmured as he caught the door and made his way outside. He paused and took a long, slow breath. He could do this. He had to do this.

As he walked down the hallway to Teresa's room he noticed that both Cho and Wylie were outside, leaning against the wall. "What's going on?" he asked as he approached.

"Doctor's checking her out," Cho answered. "You can go in."

He didn't want to – and that made him a terrible husband. He wanted to stay out in the hall with Jason and Kimball and pretend that there was no one he knew on the other side of that door. He especially didn't want to think about him.

"What are you waiting for?" Cho asked him knowingly.

With a sharp glance and a deep sigh he pushed the door open and walked in.

"I'm sorry, you can't come in -" the doctor started to say but Teresa interrupted him.

"It's okay Doctor – this is my husband. Jane, this is Dr. Reiser."

"Hi. Sorry about that Doctor – had to go to the bathroom."

"That's fine Mr. Jane."

"How is she?" he asked the doctor, his eyes intentionally not looking at the bassinet.

"She's doing well," the doctor smiled. "And since your son is also healthy you can take your family home now."

"Thank you," he nodded at the doctor as she left the room and then turned to Teresa. "You ready to go home now?"

"Yes – can you grab my clothes," she asked. For the next few moments things were silent as he helped her dress."

"The car seat?" she asked after a moment.

"I asked Cho to bring it up. I'll check to see if he's back."

He stood back while Teresa put the baby into the car seat, feeling ashamed and angry at himself. He couldn't even handle looking at his own son.

Cho refused to let him drive – which was probably smart. He wasn't exactly feeling his best. Instead the agent drove them both, letting Wylie drive their car. Jane sat in the front while Teresa sat in the back with the car seat beside her.

Once they'd arrived home she went straight to bed, taking the baby with her. Jane spent a few minutes getting her some food – only remembering then that she'd said she was hungry. He took in the food and arranged the tray on her lap – all the while still not looking at the baby, who was lying beside her on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

She shrugged and her eyes filled with tears. "Okay – I feel fine."

He closed his eyes and swore softly to himself. What the hell was he doing? He gingerly sat beside her on the bed and reached out and touched her gently on the cheek. "I'm so sorry love. I'm – I'll deal with it, I promise. We're both tired is all. Why don't you sleep."

"The baby?" she hiccupped.

He sighed. "Don't worry – I'll watch him. You just go to sleep."

"You need to sleep too."

"I will, don't worry. I'm just not quite ready. Please Teresa – just rest. Everything will be fine."

"How can it be?" she whispered as she closed her eyes and turned away from him, her arm gently placed over top of the tightly swaddled child.

Jane felt the tears gather in his own eyes as he watched the woman he loved – the mother of his child, fall asleep. He had to get a handle on this – couldn't let things go or it would only get worse.

With a deep breath he allowed his eyes to move over to his sleeping son – looking at his tiny body and the face, which reminded him so much of his daughter.

It was interesting, he thought, with a slight feeling of relief, but the baby didn't look as much like Charlotte when he was sleeping. It must have something to do with the eyes, he thought. Right now he looked more like Lisbon than like her.

He continued to study his son – the tiny child sleeping so peacefully by his mother. He felt himself begin to relax as he looked at this new life. He watched as the baby's mouth quivered and then puckered in his sleep. He must be dreaming of dinner, Jane thought, and he began to smile. "That's my boy," he said softly.

And it was true – this was his son, his child – his and Teresa's. Together they'd made a baby, an innocent little boy who only needed to be loved.

He took a deep breath, feeling a stab of pain somewhere around his heart. This wouldn't be easy but he had to start sometime and now was as good as any. He couldn't let his fear defeat him and he couldn't let this go on any longer. With another breath he stood, being careful not to wake his wife, and walked around to the other side of their bed. And then, even though his heart was beating so fast it almost jumped from his chest, he leaned over and gently picked up the tiny child.

His hands were shaking, so he was extra careful. He swallowed as he looked down at and then made his way slowly to the rocking chair in the corner. He sat down and arranged the baby carefully in the crook of his arm. He then began to rock.

He concentrated on simply relaxing and letting the peace of the night wash over him. He tried not to think about anything – anything at all. For a while he didn't even look down – he simply held the soft, warm bundle and rocked.

But soon memories started to seep in – memories of sitting like this with his daughter, holding her, rocking her. He remembered telling her stories, even when she was too young to understand. He closed his eyes and thought of her – his little girl whom he had loved with all his heart.

And he'd lost her. She was gone now – and he never would be able to hold her again. He would never feel her arms around him, or hear her say how much she loved him. Never again would he tell her how much he loved her.

Then he frowned. No – he would tell her. He would keep telling her he loved her, even if she couldn't hear him. He blinked suddenly and looked down. And there was his son.

It dawned on him suddenly. He could hold this child. He would be able to tell him stories, would be able to feel his arms around him, would be able to hear him say that he loved him – but that would only happen if he accepted him – accepted that he had a responsibility to be here for him, to care for him and to love him.

But what if something happened? What if he did something stupid again and he lost this child? Would he survive?

Probably not, he acknowledged. But could he live and not love his son? What would that accomplish? Would his child be safer or better off if he wasn't around?

No – of course not, he acknowledged. He heard a soft sound and looked down – and couldn't help but grin. The baby's mouth had opened in a big yawn.

"Why are you so tired?" he asked the baby softly. "It's your Mommy who did all the work." Of course that didn't mean anything to the baby, but he seemed to like being spoken to – his eyes, still bleary and unfocused, seemed to settle on his father.

"Hi there," Jane whispered. "Are you getting hungry? No? Well then, let's just sit here quietly and let Mommy sleep. She needs it you know. She worked really hard to bring you into the world."

The baby blinked and yawned again and then his little fist once more found his mouth. Jane smiled and lifted his finger and gently stroked the downy soft cheek.

"Can I tell you a story little man?" his father said softly. "Let me tell you about your big sister Charlotte. She looked just like you – except she didn't have any hair when she was born. Not like you – you have dark hair just like your Mommy."

Jane continued to talk, telling his son stories of his big sister, of when she was a little girl. Soon the baby's eyes began to droop and then he was fast asleep, held safely in the loving arms of his father.

Jane continued to look at him, his voice fading – along with the fear and the guilt and the sadness. It was as if speaking of Charlotte had allowed him to – not let go – but rather to accept his feelings of love for both his daughter, and now his son.

He knew there would be tough times ahead – but he could deal with them. He'd learned to live with the sadness inside of himself – but it had long been covered in a veil of hope and love. Teresa had been responsible for that and now his son completed the process.

For the first time, since that moment in the hospital when he'd held his son, he felt a wash of joy so complete he didn't know quite what to do.

Tears once again fell – this time onto the child. They were not tears of sadness or despair but of atonement and peace. They were also an anointing, a blessing on this child who was so completely loved.

Jane lifted the tiny baby and laid his cheek against that of this, his greatest joy. "I love you son," he whispered. "And I'll be here for you, I promise."

Teresa watched from the bed, tears of her own falling down her cheeks. The heartache she'd felt died down and happiness – and relief – took its place.

"Hey – Daddy, don't you think it's time to go to bed?" she called quietly.

Jane looked up – and smiled. He then carefully stood and walked over to the bed and sat down beside Teresa. "He's beautiful," he said softly and then he leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss.

"Yes, he is," Teresa answered with a smile. "He looks like you."

"No – he looks like his sister and his mother," he said, and then he grinned. "Although I'm sure he'll be as charming as me."

Teresa rolled her eyes and snorted. "Probably more like as irritating as you. Now get your pajamas on and get to bed. You have to save your energy because you have a child to look after – and a wife."

"I do, don't I?" he answered, his face becoming serious. "I'm the luckiest man in the world, you know." With that he leaned over and gave his wife another kiss – one of both gratitude and love. He then handed her the baby so that he could get ready for bed.

Soon Patrick and Teresa were sound asleep, the baby lying carefully between them. A few minutes later and the baby's eyes suddenly opened – and his face began to pucker. He was hungry and he was about to let his presence be known.

The joys of parenthood had begun for the Jane's.