Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 4

The ICU was somewhere Jane hadn't been for a long time. He'd been here once a few years ago, waiting for a victim to recover enough to give a statement, only they'd never woken up again. Since then, no case had lead him to this part of a hospital, although that may have had something to do with his selective choice of which part of the case he would associate himself with. Cho had come upstairs with him, wanting to see for himself that Lisbon was ok. Laila was wrapped up in her coat on Cho's shoulder. Jane had attempted to carry her himself, but he had barely been able to lift her sleeping body from the chairs where he was trembling so much. He wasn't sure whether it was from relief, from the lack of food and drink through the most part of the day, or the fear of what he would discover in Lisbon's room. Either way, it had stopped him from lifting Laila without fear of waking her, so Cho had stepped in, taking the little girl effortlessly into his arms. Laila had put her head back on his shoulder, linked his arms around her neck with a whispered "My Cho" and then gone back to sleep without protest.

The doctor came to a halt outside room one. Jane was confused for a moment when they stopped, but when he realised that they had stopped because they gotten to Lisbon's room he felt the familiar, increased thumping within his chest. The doctor stood back, for him to approach the door and open it himself, but he froze in place. The last time he had approached a door with this much apprehension he'd found his family's mutilated bodies behind it. Lisbon had been in a bad way when he last saw her, he wasn't sure he was going to like what he'd see on the other side. He was sick of opening doors to bad sights.

"Jane," Cho prompted.

Cho's questioning tone startled him out of his small trance and he shook himself. It was Cho, however, who pushed the door open in his place. Jane stepped up to the doorway, but he never made it through the door.

Even though the room was large and there were so many monitors and tubes in the room that it should have frightened him, it wasn't the daunting medical equipment that instilled the familiar fear inside of him. Instead, it was the figure in the bed that made his heart pound. "Oh, Teresa," he whispered breathlessly. She was lying still, her arms draped over the blankets that shielded the bandages from her surgery. She was still deathly pale, despite the blood transfusion that was still hooked up to her arm. Her dark hair was spread around the white pillow beneath her like a halo of the darkness that had shaded so many years of her life, her fringe uneven as it had been swept to the side, so much so that it looked like she had never had the fringe added in. It was unnerving to see the tubes coming out of her arms, some draining fluid and others inserting it. There was an oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth, making sure that she didn't stop breathing during her coma. He wasn't sure why that was there if she was fine. That didn't give him the impression that she was as ok as the doctor had told them she was.

"Don't be alarmed by the mask and the I.V's," the doctor told him. "It's all for precaution only."

But still, it was a precaution because there was a risk, and what was what alarmed him. From previous experience, he knew that people only told others not to be alarmed when there was a valid reason to be alarmed in the first place. Even though they assured him that Lisbon would be fine when she woke up, he realised that until she did wake up there was still a risk, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what these risks were – a risk that her stitches would tear? That the surgery would fail? More complications? Fever? Infection? A risk that she'd stop breathing?

A risk that she could still die?

A burning sensation behind his eyes caused him to blind strongly, and it was followed by a thick lump choking up his throat. He felt his own strength, which had been wavering for too many hours, start to disappear completely as he leaned sideways against the doorframe for support. As he did, he bowed his head down so that he couldn't see the tragic scene before him anymore, and he covered his eyes with his hand. He tried to control his breathing as it began to overwhelm him, determined not to lose control as he had done twice now, but it was hard. The day had been so long and painful that this was just the twist of the knife in his heart on top of it all. Sleep deprivation that had lasted from years automatically made him feel worse and his willingness to fight the weakness failed him. He'd not felt so helpless since he'd last walked into a bedroom with a pounding heart. Since he found them. He didn't care who told him that it wasn't his fault, Lisbon would never have been shot if he hadn't goaded Carlson into pulling his weapon.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when a firm hand came down on his shoulder, gentleness in its weight. He didn't have to turn to know that it was Cho, but he did anyway. "Look what I've done to her," he choked out.

"You didn't do this, Jane," Cho told him.

"Look at her!" he cried out, flinging his arm behind him. "She looks..." his eyes fell on Laila and he lowered his voice. "She looks like they did," he croaked out. "She looks dead, Cho!"

Cho, however, didn't need to look at her. Not again. He'd already looked over Jane's shoulder and seen her lying there, lifeless if not for the steadily beeping monitors assuring them otherwise. "Get those thoughts out of your head," he told him, watching as Jane let out a frustrated sigh, still refusing to look at her again. Noticing this, Cho used the hand on his shoulder to physically turn him towards the room and forcing him to look at her. "Lisbon isn't them," he reminded him. "You were there this time, ok? You were there, she got to the hospital in time and she's going to be ok because you were there with her. If you're going to go in there and wake her up, you can't blur the lines. You can't think of her as them. She's not Violet, she's not Claire-" Jane looked shocked, having never heard the team mention his wife and daughter by name before, it wasn't how they spoke about them. "-She's Lisbon. Teresa. She loves you like they did, but she isn't them. Got it?"

Jane sniffed a little, a quiet sound that he tried to disguise. Obediently, he nodded and took a few shaky steps into the room, seeming to stumble a little like a lost child looking for shelter, only to be met with horror. It was almost as if he wanted to stay away, so that he couldn't see the damage his messing around had caused, but he knew in his heart that the right place to be was at her side. Cho watched as he entered, waiting in the doorway in case Jane had a lapse of judgement and tried to get back through the door. The doctor looked at the sleeping Laila in his arms. "Would you like me to show you the family room, sir?" he asked.

Cho wanted to make sure that Jane was aware of their leaving first, so he called into the room to tell him this. He simply nodded back, looking at Laila rather than the man holding her. Cho understood – he'd bought up Jane's family, and now Jane was looking at an injured woman, whom he loved, and a little girl he'd promised he'd watch...the similarities were almost cruel, but couldn't be helped. After that, Jane was completely oblivious to what was happening anywhere other than where Lisbon lay.

Slowly, he approached her bedside, and in a child-like way he half expected her to open her eyes, her beautiful eyes, and smile at him, momentarily glad to see him before she started berating him for staring at her, or making a fuss, or taking her to the hospital in the first place. He sat down on the chair at her bedside and took her limp hand in his, careful not to jostle any of the tubes and wires. The hand felt warm in his own, which comforted him more than he could describe. It wasn't cold like Violet's had been when he found her. She was warm. She wasn't cold like them. She was warm, she was very much alive. He squeezed her hand lightly, not too light but enough to let her know that he was there if she could feel him. He felt himself letting out a breath, unsure that he was even holding one to begin with, but as he released it he felt a constriction around his heart also disappearing. Now that he was beside her, rather than on the other side of the room, he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest whilst she breathed through the oxygen mask – it wasn't synthetic, she was breathing on her own.

Yes, she was very much alive.

The following morning, Jane raised his head from the mattress. Groaning, he ran his hand over his face. The familiar ache in the back of his head resurfaced and he knew why instantly – he hadn't slept more than an hour. Even though he had rested, true enough, by closing his eyes and focusing on the sound of Lisbon's heart monitor, he hadn't slept. He'd laid there for hours, waiting, begging for sleep to take him far, far away, but it never did. Instead, whenever the desperation of sleep fought against him and his eyelids began drooping, he would lean against the edge of the mattress, much as he had done a few hours ago. Supporting his head with one arm he would keep the other locked around Lisbon's hand. Part of him felt like he was abandoning, forcing her to fight this coma alone, were he to release her hand. He didn't leave her side for anything other than something he couldn't control – like a bathroom break. Yet, the nagging fear that he wouldn't be there when she woke up had him racing back to her bedside, his heart falling every time when he saw that nothing had changed.

The nurses walked in every hour to check her vitals, and even though they continued to reassure Jane that she was making progress he still had a nagging feeling that they suspected her stability could disappear at any moment – why else would they be checking every hour? However, it was the same monotonous routine every time; they would come in, greet Jane, ask if there was any movement, check for themselves even though Jane would tell them that there wasn't, make their notes, ask if there was anything they could get for Jane, and when he declined their offers they would leave.

Lisbon was not as pale this morning as she had been last night, thanks to a second blood transfusion overnight, but she was still painfully unresponsive, her with arms draped over the blankets and one of her hands always loosely wrapped between Jane's fingers. In the small hours of the morning he'd found himself talking to her a lot until his voice wore thin because of the constant chatter, despite the lack of response. When she didn't reply, or tell him to shut up and let her get some sleep, he felt himself slipping further and further away from the nurses who now came in to check on the both of them, not just Lisbon. At least with Lisbon they could medically help her, but there was only so much they could do to help Jane when he was falling into himself.

Rigsby was sat in the corridor outside the delivery suites. The chair underneath him felt almost alien to him. He was more collapsed into it than sitting, but still able to let his weight rest in the plastic shape. Everything was working on autopilot at the moment. His body, physically, was in the corridor, but his mind and thoughts were on the other side of the door with Grace. Leaning forward in the chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and dropped into his head into his hands, pressing the balls of his palms into his eyes, he tried not to pay attention from the occasional screaming from Grace's contractions. The closed door wasn't sound proof, and not only was he suffering because she was suffering, but because he wasn't allowed to be there with her and they both knew that he was only outside...so close, yet so far away.

He couldn't understand why this was happening. Not her. Not to Grace. His Grace. There shouldn't have to be any complications with her or their baby. After all, Laila's pregnancy and birth had been easy, if not long. They'd worried themselves through Laila's birth because it was a new experience for the both of them, but looking back on it now it had been incredibly easy in comparison. Grace's contractions had started in the early hours of the morning, her water had broken outside the hospital, and thirty-two hours later, as the sun was setting on December 1st, little Laila had been placed in her father's arms for the first time. But not this time. This time, he'd been forced away from her because her labour was taking too long, wasn't progressing fast enough and the baby was in danger. That's all they'd explained to him before they'd removed him from the room. Why wouldn't they explain it in more depth to him? Because he wasn't sure they could. All they knew was that the baby was in distress. That was all they could tell him. Of course, they hadn't told Grace that in case it added any stress that would put her and the baby in more danger, but it was surely distressing enough to see Wayne being asked to leave the room.

"Rigsby!"

The sound of his name came from further down the corridor. He looked up, remained seated and only lifted his head with a mild enthusiasm. He didn't regret calling this arrival for help, for comfort, for answers, and he'd had no doubt that he'd come. "You're here," he said simply. There were no 'where were you?'s or 'what took you so long?'s.

"How's Grace?" his friend asked.

Rigsby turned his head towards the closed door. "She's still in there. They won't let me stay."

"Why not?"

He looked at his companion with a broken gaze. "The baby's in distress, something to do with the labour not moving quickly enough. From here on out the longer it takes, the more dangerous it gets for Grace and the baby. They might have to do an emergency C-section," he sighed. "I didn't mean to have to call you away, but I couldn't have Laila here anymore, not when this is happening, so Cho took her home and I just..."

"Couldn't wait alone," Jane finished for him.

He nodded. "Thank you for being here."

Jane nodded, even through his own exhaustion. "You're welcome, Wayne."

And together they sat, they waited, and they prayed. They sat for company, drinking coffee and tea in excessive amounts. They waited for news on the conditions of the women they loved. But most of all they prayed that all three of the lives at stake would be safe and sound as quickly as possible.

After sitting with Rigsby for five minutes, Jane had beaten his own personal record. Length of time spent away from Lisbon's side: five minutes and ten seconds. He'd had to move though. Rigsby's call had been short, abrupt, but pleading. He needed someone, Jane was closest, and Jane was who he requested, so he'd placed a kiss to Lisbon's cheek and then immediately left to go to his side. As they sat outside the delivery suites, he realised that although there wasn't entirely nothing he could do for Lisbon (he counted being close and talking to her as helping), he could help other people at the moment.

Half an hour later, they were still sitting helplessly in their chairs. Jane had gotten the latest round of hot drinks, just as Cho had done for him when they had been waiting for news on Lisbon's condition. Rigsby hadn't taken the tea, though. He just put it beside him on the table of magazines and continued to stare at his hands. Jane drank the tea he bought for himself, however, because it was the closest thing he would get to a breakfast. Soon after this, one of the obstetricians came out of the delivery suite. Rigsby noticed and shot to his feet immediately.

"Mr Rigsby," he approached.

"Agent Rigsby," Jane corrected. Rigsby gave him a curious side glance, but said nothing. Jane just shrugged in response.

Rigsby turned back to the doctor. "Can I see my girlfriend now?" he asked, his voice hoarse, and it was clear in that moment, to Jane at least, that he had been fighting back an overwhelming emotion for some time now. He recognised the break as one he'd tried to hide in his own voice.

"In a moment, yes," she told him.

"Is she ok? Is the baby ok?"

She didn't answer him direction, but did offer some explanation. "We were preparing for an emergency C-section, but the labour has got back on track so we're going to proceed with the natural birth, and Miss Van Pelt is happy to go ahead in this manner."

Rigsby, however, seemed reluctant. "And they'll both be ok if you do that?" he asked.

She nodded. "As long as there are no more delays in the labour, all will be fine. She has asked for you to come back into the room, however."

"Of course," he nodded quickly.

And as quickly as Jane had been called into the hallway, Jane found himself alone in it.

"Okay, Grace, you can start pushing with the next contraction," the midwife announced.

Grace looked at the woman in disbelief, before wondering where on earth the extra energy needed to push was going to come from. With Laila, she'd been so determined for the pain to end that she'd somehow found a burst of energy, but with the complications surrounding this baby's labour so far she wasn't sure there was any more energy to find. What she wouldn't give for a nice caffienated coffee right now. At least they had let Wayne come back into the room, and he stood at her side with one of his arms supporting her back as she sat up, the other firmly gripping the hand that she clutched at him with. Her own free hand was braced against the opposite side of the bed, digging her fingernails into the side of it every time a contraction hit her. Her red hair was falling out from the rushed braid it had been pulled up in, sticking to the warm sheen of swear covering her skin. No matter how many times Wayne cooled her with a compress she felt as if she were burning up to the point of no return, her usually alabaster skin was almost bright red from the straight of labour. Did she feel attractive at that moment? Definitely not. But she remembered this part well, she'd only felt this achy, this tired, this warm, and this unattractive once before – it was time to push.

"This is going to hurt," she realised with a groan.

"It's ok, Grace, you'll do great," Wayne assured her, kissing the side of her head.

She turned to face him, a sudden panic on her eyes. "What if something else goes wrong?"

"It won't," he assured her.

"But what if it does? What if something happens to the baby?"

"Grace, listen to me," he instructed calmly. "I know you're scared about the baby, and about Lisbon, and I know you wanted her here as well, but we're going to do this together, ok? Me, you and our baby? Think about that. Think about our new addition, the next step to our big family...think about how good it felt to hold Laila for the first time and how good it's going to feel when you hold our new baby soon...think about having a beautiful little gift to give Lisbon when she wakes up. Think about that, ok?"

The images he was putting in her head caused her to nod, her usual determination set on her face. "Ok."

Anxiously awaiting the inevitable pain, she realised that this was it. It was happening, and it was happening now. Soon, their second child would be taking its first lone breathes, and she would no longer be carrying it inside of her. She would be able to hold her baby properly, see them open their tiny eyes, ear their cries, be able to calm them. She would be able to meet their little baby. It was this thought, the same thought she'd had almost five years ago with Laila, that gave her the strength to make the first push when the next contraction hit her...and the second...and the third...feeling the baby move inside of her was a pain that she couldn't believe she'd forgotten, and she didn't hesitate to vocally show her displease with the pain. The midwives, Wayne and the head obstetrician all helped her through it, but she ignored everyone except for Wayne. At the end of the day, it only mattered that he was there with her, there to see their child into the world.

When the fourth contraction faded, she collapsed back onto the mattress, stopping only when Wayne's arm kept her upright. "Keep it up, Grace, you're doing great."

"God, it really hurts," she groaned, her eyes screwed up from the pain.

Her next contraction came, and Grace pushed once more. "I can see the head, Grace, keep going," the midwife told her.

"See, Grace!" Wayne grinned. "It's almost over, you're nearly there."

"One more push," the midwife confirmed.

Grace took a deep breath and nodded. "One more."

"One more," Wayne repeated, gripping her hand tighter.

One more was enough, and moments later the sounds of Grace's pain was replaced with another sound, a sound so innocent and beautiful that it could only be the first cry of a newborn baby. Wayne grinned as he looked towards the cry, seeing a glimpse of his child being wrapped into a blanket and being whisked away for cheeks. However, he managed to see a glimpse of the child's face. "You hear that, Grace?" he said, almost jumping with excitement. "That's our baby."

Wayne left the delivery suite and went into the hall, ready to ring the grandparents and let them know the news. He was a little surprised to see Jane still sitting there with his tea, having expected him to go immediately back to Lisbon's side, but he was still there, waiting patiently. "I assume good news, from the size of your smile?" Jane asked.

Wayne nodded. "Everything's perfect. Mother and baby are doing great. Grace is being taken up to a ward, she's pretty exhausted so she's getting some sleep. She got to hold the baby first, because I got to hold Laila first, so she's over the moon. They took the baby before we could, though, to make sure everything was ok with the complications, but everything's great. Perfectly healthy, ten fingers, ten toes...and one penis."

"A penis?" Jane repeated.

"A penis," he nodded.

Both men were silent for a moment, then both grinned and Jane took the man in a hug. "The Rigsby family name will continue after all," Jane smiled.

"You uh...you wanna see him?" Rigsby asked hesitantly. "I understand if you want to get back to Lisbon, but..."

"No, I'd love to see him," Jane cut him off with a smile. "Besides, Teresa would never forgive me if I didn't visit her godson when he was born."

"Your godson too," he reminded Jane.

At this, Jane continued to smile. "Yes, but I'm not going to kick my own ass quite as badly as Teresa would," he reminded Rigsby.

The baby boy was still on his own, away from the rest of the babies in the nursery while the nurses finished their tests. They entered the area to see the nurse standing over the new baby, who was lying on his back inside one of the clear plastic cradles, a blue blanket folded at the base of the cradle as a statement of "yes, I'm a boy, I have a penis and my Daddy's surname will live on". He'd already been changed into one of the plain white sleep suits that Grace had packed for him. On his write was a tiny I.D. tag reading 'Baby Van Pelt-Rigsby' as they had yet to name the boy. That would change as soon as the name had been recorded. If Laila's name was anything to go by, they would drop Grace's surname, even though the pair were yet to marry, or even get engaged. Wayne had proposed during both pregnancies, but Grace insisted each time that she'd always wanted her children at her wedding, so they had agreed to wait.

Wayne stood over his son as the nurses finished their tests and allowed him closer, immediately smiling at the little boy and stroking his head. The boy wasn't crying anymore as he was sleeping, yet even in his slumber he sought out the owner of the hand, finding his father's palm with familiarity as he had held him minutes before. Wayne smiled deeper, allowing his son to hold tight to his little finger.

"He looks a lot like his father," Jane noticed immediately. "The eyes will be the same as Grace and Laila's, if the eyebrow line is anything to go by. He'll be the image of you, with his mother's eyes."

"Perfect eyes," Wayne whispered. He kept his eyes on the baby, watching the new life before him. He was as transfixed by the sleeping boy as he had been by his daughter when she was born. "That's my son," he whispered in awe, never drawing his eyes away from the child.

"Sure is," Jane confirmed.

And they stood there, watching the sleeping breaths of Baby Van Pelt-Rigsby, 5lb 6oz, Jane couldn't help but miss Lisbon's presence more than ever.