I'm starting to really get why people do this fanfic stuff! Doing a lot of writing all over this fic right now and loving it, but it's fascinating the way the story is heading off in directions I had no intention of going. So I thought I'd better let you know as soon as I did… it looks as though that promised happy ending…. won't be that happy. I'm so sorry guys, it's not me, it's my muse! But on the bright side, this means that there will hopefully be a sequel, which will wrap things up in a good way – it has already started to plot itself out. But there's still a long way to go with this one, so here's an uncharacteristically quick update in the lives of Trick and Lisby!

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EARLY NOVEMBER – Lisbon finds a friend

So this is morning sickness. Lisbon wearily lifted her head from the toilet yet again. Try morning, afternoon, evening and middle-of-the-night sickness, she thought grimly to herself. Since discovering her pregnancy the sickness had gotten rapidly worse and her frequent lightning dashes to the facilities meant she could no longer hide it. She had explained it away to her work colleagues (and Sam) as an ulcer flare-up. Now as she cleaned herself up, tidied her hair and readied herself to return to her team, she reflected how glad she was that she was no longer the boss. Her job was being compromised, however, as she was increasingly nervous of going out in the field. Something was going to have to give.

So far, it had been a strange, lonely kind of pregnancy. Sam's birthday had come and gone and, for some reason, she hadn't said a word. But events were going to force her hand, she knew. She needed to see an OB-GYN – for a start she should probably find out how far along she was, and she was getting a little worried about all the sickness. When it came to pregnancy she was probably one of the most clueless 30 year-olds ever. After her mother's death she had been the only female in her household; she could count her number of close female friends over the years on one hand and none of them had been expecting while they'd been close. Add to the mix her male-dominated profession and… nope. She didn't have a clue. Like many career women she had thought about children, but in that vague, having-one-at-the-right-time-with-the-right-man kind of way.

Trick had had a child. Far too early – he had only been 17. Children having children. Often a sign of a chaotic childhood, the desire to create a family of your very own as soon as possible, and to do it all better. But Trick's little family had barely been formed before being torn apart by Red John. Trick rarely spoke about his life before…. but occasionally a little story about his wife or daughter had emerged. Those, and his interactions with children that she had seen made her believe he would have been a wonderful father.

Would she be any good as a mother? God knows, her childhood had been no bed of roses either. There was already something deep down in her that wanted this baby very, very badly, but should she be doing this? Now? With Bosco? Why hadn't she told him yet? He'd had no kids with Mandy - apparently Mandy couldn't – but he'd never talked about kids to her… not that she'd talked about them to him either… A shadow fell across her desk and Lisbon looked up to see the dark, striking features of her boss, Madeleine Hightower. "Teresa? Can you come into my office please?"

Madeleine pushed a little bowl of mints towards Lisbon, who took one gratefully. "Mints agree with your ulcer, huh?" Hightower raised her eyebrows. "Often they don't." Lisbon could do nothing but shrug. Hightower got down to business. "Girl, you have got to see a doctor. Your work is fine-" as Lisbon anxiously started to defend herself - "I just don't like to see you feeling bad like this. And it don't look like it's getting any better."

Lisbon liked, respected, and was a little afraid of Hightower. Only a few years older than her, the woman was a force of nature. A superb manager and cop, she was scared of nothing and no-one. Teresa had been on the way to being that person herself.. before… Bosco took over…. which only happened because Trick broke her heart… Hightower was divorced, with a couple of kids, Lisbon had heard – didn't seem to stop her doing anything.

"You're right, boss," she acknowledged now. "I will get that organised this week, and I'm sure-"

"Do you know any OB-GYNs here or do you want me to give you some numbers?" put in Hightower.

"I- what? I…" Lisbon saw a slow smile spreading over her boss's face and could only smile helplessly back. "I could really use a few recommendations, please, thank you."

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Three days later she was in a plush seating area waiting to see her new (Hightower-recommended) OB-GYN. She had just had an ultrasound (feeling a strange surge of something at the sight of the flickering little bean on the screen) and had been reassured that all appeared well and that Dr Davidson would talk everything through with her. Somehow, Madeleine seeing right through her had made everything a little better. One other person knew about her little bean – soon it would be more. And, boss or not, it looked as though Hightower was willing and able to provide that female companionship that Lisbon needed so badly right now (always, really…). After catching Teresa by surprise she had explained how easy it was for her to spot the signs – and told Lisbon a little about her two kids – now aged 7 and 10. Things were still a touch shy between them, but Hightower had asked Lisbon to tell her all about the appointment and insisted she come to her with any worries at all. Teresa was daring to hope that here was someone she might truly be able to confide in, to go to for support – something she had had precious little of in her life.

Dr Laura Davidson was a tall, cool, but smiling, lady, probably not much older than Madeleine but already in possession of striking, silver hair. After repeating the ultrasonographer's assurances that all was well with bean, Dr Davidson looked at the ultrasound picture . "It looks as though you're just about 12 weeks along (nearly at the end of your first trimester!) – does that tally with what you think?"

"That far? No – I was sure – I mean I just figured it was a lot less than that, because I've only…" she trailed off.

"I make it that conception would have been around the middle of August," smiled Dr Davidson.

August. Austin. Trick. Oh god…..!

Dr Davidson saw her face. "Is everything ok? We can't pin down the date exactly…." Lisbon grasped at this. The night she had come home she and Sam… Basically she had slept with Sam less than a day after…. So she would have no way of knowing. That was even worse.

She managed to get through the rest of her appointment somehow. Dr Davidson was concerned about her amount of nausea and sickness, but reassured her that this would hopefully start diminishing as she went into her second trimester. The appointment was concluded with agreement over the date for the subsequent one, and Dr Davidson's gentle invitation that Teresa's partner might like to accompany her next time.

Not if I can help it, thought Lisbon, as she walked to her car. How the hell was she going to tell Sam now? What if this baby wasn't his? She was 12 weeks gone…. She could see the swelling curve of her stomach, Hightower had figured it out in seconds… She couldn't keep it quiet much longer. She was going to keep this baby, no matter what. Catholic though she was, the religious reason for rejecting termination had never even entered her head; from the moment she'd seen those uncertain pink lines on the little blue sticks her love for this ephemeral little something had never been in doubt. She'd spent little time imagining what it would be like to have and hold a baby, only knew that she already loved this little being growing within her right now (as sick as the little creature appeared to be making her) and was not going to lose it.

A few days later, Lisbon was the recipient of a black eye, courtesy of an inadequately restrained, and aggressive, perp in interrogation. A frantically worried and contrite Hightower took her to lunch, where Lisbon flatly reused to step down from active duty unless it was a direct order. Hightower reluctantly agreed she could stay... for now... and their conversation took a more pleasant, and personal turn. Lisbon's sickness was no better, but she was surprised at how much she enjoyed chatting with Madeleine, and lunch ended with swapped contact details and an invitation for Teresa to meet with Hightower and her children, Mimi and Will, for a picnic by Lake Martin the following Sunday.

For herself, Hightower was happy to extend the hand of friendship to her feisty little Chicago team member. Lisbon was a superb cop, but like many women in her position seemed to struggle to relax her guard and allow herself to be the woman she was – and that hopefully meant to allow a few female friends into her life. Madeleine had been there, done that (ironically it had been her divorce that had been the catalyst for her) and she also recognised in Teresa a kindred spirit and potential very good friend. She would normally have been inclined to let the friendship develop at a slower, more organic pace but Lisbon's pregnancy had galvanised her into hurrying things along. This girl was going to need someone by her side, and soon, and from what Madeleine could work out, there was no-one else..

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EARLY NOVEMBER – How Jane Lives Now

Trick dreams of Lisby sometimes (sometimes he dreams of Angela). Mostly he still dreams of Charlotte, often waking dreams.

His childhood has not conditioned him to expect much for himself, and it had been a challenge for Angela to convince him that he was loved, and could love in return. After Red John it was Lisbon who, unknowing, had in her own way begun the process again. On a subliminal level Trick had sensed this… and found the courage to lay his heart at her feet. Her rejection of him had been swiftly followed by his rape at the hands of Smith and Hannigan; the double blow has levelled his fragile self esteem yet again.

Ironically it is Don Fischer's threat to Lisbon that gets him out of bed in the mornings; although not suicidal his inclination might be to simply disconnect from life. He endures the often indifferent, or casually cruel treatment meted out by his team mates and other colleagues to 'gyppo' Jane. Worst is the appalling stress created by the near constant presence of Smith and Hannigan in his working orbit, as well as the occasional punch, kick or grope they manage to get in when no-one is looking, but he tries to keep his head down, and focus on doing as good a job as he can on the cases that come his way.

At night, he goes to his tiny, cold apartment. A few of his neighbours in his 20-floor building, all enduring circumstances at least as humble as his own, are inclined to befriend the quiet young man but, unlike the Jane of old, who would have revelled in getting to know new people, he is now more shy and reserved. He is always polite and pleasant of course, but largely manages to keep himself to himself. But he is still Patrick Jane… even when he isn't trying to lay himself out to be irresistible, people are still drawn to him.

Lack of money or time, coupled with stress and exhaustion, means he rarely food-shops or cooks. When he can no longer ignore his hunger he buys something from the nearest vendor if he happens to have any money. When he has none, he's been going hungry, but now that happens less often. Two floors up is Mrs Yannis, a Greek Roma dressed always in widow's black, rightfully and loudly angry at the world. But she has only mumbled endearments for her sweet boy in no. 113 who will always carry her heavy shopping bags thirteen floors up when the lifts are yet again broken. Even though the first time he offers, as his passage is blocked by her bulk toiling up the stairs ahead of him, she thinks he is trying to rob her and whacks him with her bag, sending him spinning into the stair rail. But he is who he is – he cannot let her struggle on alone and he smiles and he persists and he makes her trust him. And he delivers her bags to her front door but doesn't ask to bring them in. She always buys too much food, unable to stop cooking enough to feed men and children long gone – now she brings her leftover Kokkinisto and Yemista down to that handsome (but too thin!) young Patrikios, determined to make her surrogate grandson eat.

Then there is little Dillon, sobbing in the hall far too late one night. Jane opens his door and follows the sound to find a snotty, filthy, stinky dark-haired boy who can't be more than 2, even if he is tiny. He is crouched outside the apartment across the hall but one, as though he's trying to push himself into the door. "Mommm-aaa!" he wails. Jane is careful. There are many, many bad people living in this building, and as a result, many more who hide behind their doors regardless of any sounds which might invade their thin walls. No one comes, although an angry shout of "Shut that fucking kid UP!" emerges threateningly from the apartment next to Jane's. Jane lowers himself to the kid's level, gently introduces himself. The ensuing conversation, mainly in sign language on the kid's part, establishes that Dillon believes that his momma is on the other side of the door. How he came to be out in the hall at 2am Jane cannot elicit. Jane, of course, knows who lives here – same as he's figured out nearly all of his neighbours. He's seen the girl – Lorelei, mistress of, or married to, a drug dealer, who visits her rarely. She is beautiful. Jane has, however, truly been caught by surprise by the presence of this little boy.

The only thing which will calm Dillon is to get him into his momma's apartment. Jane hastily weighs up the risk of Lorelei's man being unexpectedly home against that of his neighbour storming out to throw the kid, and Jane, against the wall, and finds in favour of rapidly picking the lock to Lorelei's home and letting Dillon in. Unable to abandon him in a possibly empty apartment, he reluctantly follows the determined little toddler into the living room, where Lorelei jumps out of her skin at the sight of both of them, tears off her headphones and screams at Jane.

Now, of course, she asks him to come sit with Dillon for a couple hours here or a night there. He doesn't mind. He likes making the little boy smile, even if in return Dillon breaks his heart with reminders of Charlotte. Turns out Lorelei's only just got him back from social services and she's trying hard to make a go of it. She still deals, though, and offers him a hit of this or that. Bad as he feels a lot of the time, he is tempted. She thinks he's "hot stuff" and wants to sleep with him. Lonely as he feels a lot of the time, he is tempted.

But most of his time not at work he is alone and there is a certain peace in that. He buys some sketchbooks and pencils, finds a battered used acoustic guitar, and spends too much of his tiny budget on music and second-hand books. He starts running. Like his books, music and drawing, running, he finds, takes him away, into another world. That's what he's always been good at – escape. He finds himself running further and faster, relishing his hammering heart and exhausted, sweat-soaked body. And then sometimes, if he's lucky, he's able to sleep and he dreams of Lisby.

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EARLY NOVEMBER – FISCHER MEANS BUSINESS

It was Kirkland, the only reasonably friendly face in Jane's working life, who first noticed that the younger man was constantly rubbing his eyes and had started resting his head on his desk during quiet moments in the bullpen. Seeing Hannigan hit Jane across the back of the head, with a growled "Get up, gyppo!" galvanised him into action. He had previously given both Fischers his opinion about how Jane was being treated, and while the fact that he'd been ignored did not particularly bother him he was fundamentally not a bad man, and decided it wouldn't hurt to show the kid a little kindness. After sending Hannigan off with a flea in ear Kirkland took Jane to lunch, where he asked him about his headaches and concluded that he might have problems with his eyesight. Jane was making short work of his food and, claiming he wasn't hungry, Kirkland shoved the remains on his plate over to the younger man.

By the time he'd polished that off as well, Kirkland had persuaded him to visit his optician, He'd picked up that Jane was not being paid properly and simply (and truthfully) told the young man that he, Kirkland, was being paid handsomely by Fischer for working with this team and he was more than happy to spend some of it on Jane, arguably the cause of his improved finances. He took Jane along, and, as he suspected, the kid was diagnosed with moderate near-sightedness and issued with a pair of thick rimmed glasses.

Jane was very pleased with the effect. They made him less… 'pretty', he thought. This gave him the idea of growing himself a beard, something he'd been delighted to discover was possible when he'd been hiding out in Venezuela. Now, vainly hoping to stop being hit on all the time, to look older again and, in particular, to try and get Smith and Hannigan to lose interest and stop their persistent harassment he'd had the beard brainstorm.

By the end of the first week it was coming along well enough for Smith to tell him to get rid of it. He ignored him. Smith came back a few days into the following week and whispered in his ear. "Orders from Fischer. Lose the fuzz and the glasses, gyppo." He smirked at Jane. "No point hiding that pretty light under a bushel, huh, sweet thing?"

Jane stuck it out. Pitching his voice so that nearby team members could overhear he patiently explained to Smith the necessity for his glasses and how the team directly benefited from his improved eyesight and reduction in headaches. And he didn't do anything about the stubble either. On Sunday morning, a photo was messaged to his phone along with a message from Don Fischer. Thought you'd like to know, poor little Lisbon had a run-in with a suspect who somehow got loose in interrogation last night. It was a police evidence shot of Lisby, with one eye blackened and a bleeding lip. The glasses and baby beard had vanished on Monday morning. Jane apologised to Kirkland – he'd lost them. Kirkland bought him another pair. Those "got broken". Irritated, Kirkland gave up, and left Jane alone, regretting his brief bout of philanthropy. Jane, consumed with guilt over Lisbon, and with his fear of Fischer renewed and augmented, was utterly unaware that a potential friend and ally had, for now at least, been lost.