Thank you as always for your reviews and follows and favs. This has been a difficult chapter to write to get the tone I wanted. I hope that I have achieved it.

Jane looks at his hand, there is a hole through the palm and coming up through the hole is a string, he follows it as it reaches up into the roof and is surprised to find that there is no roof but that the string carries on up in to the heavens. He then notices the same with his other hand, he looks down and it is the same with his feet. He regrets the holes made in his favourite shoes. He leans back as far as he can but he can't see the end of the strings. Suddenly his right hand moves up to his face shielding his eyes, The movement catches him by surprise and he's certain it wasn't by his doing. It still doesn't help him to see the end, he faces forward and all there is in front of him is darkness, a thick, impenetrable darkness, his instincts tell him to run in the opposite direction. His right foot moves awkwardly forward followed by his left, he tries to resist as his feet continue to move him in to the darkness but it is impossible. He realizes that if he looks like a puppet and walks like a puppet, he must be a puppet and he has a good idea who the puppet master is. He tries to open his mouth to shout the name of his nemesis but he can't, it has been sewn shut. He wonders how he hasn't felt the stitches until now. His feet continue to propel him forward. The darkness is suffocating, oppressive, it hurts to breath as if the darkness is pressing down on to his chest. He tries to resist each step but he has no control. To take his mind away from the darkness he concentrates on the rhythm of his feet, the speed never changes, a slow pace, telling him that there is no rush to where ever he's being taken. He starts to count, 1...2...3...4...1352...1353...1354. Then relief is before him as a light appears in the distance. He want to run towards it but his feet continue at the same steady pace. He looks up to where his master must be in impatience but there is no quickening of his pace. The light is coming for underneath a door. His hand moves to the knob, as much as Jane wants out of the darkness a dread of what the light may bring suddenly fills him and the dark suddenly feels safe and comforting. The door opens and Jane is moved inside. There is a chair with a figure tied to it, in the distance. He recognizes the figure and it brings instant tears to his eyes. His hands refuse to wipe them away and so they begin to drip on to his cheeks. He's being brought ever closer and details emerge, hands tied behind, back arched, feet tied to the back legs, head staring at the ceiling. He feels his heart begin to race, he looks down as he feels his hand grip something cold and hard, a knife. He is brought so close to the victim that he is breathing on her, she feels it and her eyes open. Relief emanates from them until she sees the knife, which is then placed against her throat. As Jane is forced to pull the knife across her neck, she whispers:

"It's all your fault."

Oblivion descends on Jane.

The sensations that are assaulting Jane's groggy mind send him in to confusion. He feels pain but comfort, the smell sends him in to panic but he is warm. As he becomes more aware the picture comes together, it is a hospital smell, a hospital bed, he feels someone holding his hand, a small and soft hand, he knows who the owner is. He pulls his hand away, he hears her voice.

"Jane, it's alright it's me Lisbon. You're safe, you're in the hospital."

He feels her taking his hand again, he opens his eyes and sees her face.

"Hey"

His voice is weak, she smiles, joy evident in her eyes. He smiles back.

"Hey, good to have you back. How are you feeling?"

"Alright I guess. Hurt a bit."

"I'll get the nurse."

Jane watches her leave, he rubs his hand against the blanket and moves it under the covers. The door opens and she is back with a nurse in tow. The nurse makes her way to the bed. Jane can tell she is the kind that give hospitals a bad name, efficient, calm and dependable but cold, impersonal, enjoys the work more than the patients. Just the type he wants, just what he deserves. Jane fixates on her every move, she takes note of the outputs from the machines beside his bed, making adjustments when she sees the need. Finally she looks at her patient.

"Hello Mr. Jane good to have you back with the living. My name is Janet, I am your nurse during the day, if there is anything you need just let me know. The doctor will be by shortly to talk with you. Can you remember what happened to you?"

Jane nods his head.

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

Jane shakes his head.

"Okay, rest as much as you can and I will be back in a little while."

Jane watches her leave, he coughs and it hurts, Lisbon notices the wince.

"Jane you should have asked for more pain medication. I'll call her."

"No."

He can tell that his tone has hurt her. he softens his voice.

"I'm fine, it's just because I coughed."

"Are you sure? Would you like some water?"

Jane shakes his head.

"You're throat will feel better if you have some."

"I'm fine. I'm tired though."

"You go back to sleep. I'll be right here."

Jane closes his eyes but with no intention of going to sleep, he knows it will not bring him peace, but he has to get away from the concern in her eyes. Underneath the covers his hand has found the gauze to the cuts in his thigh, his fingers make their way underneath. They rub back and forth against the stitches until they find a flaw, they tug at the thread, he can feel blood, inside he smiles.