Hey! So I realized I posted this with out an A/N, or explanation, or apology. So, Like I said last time, I was entirely typing this on my phone which was giving me issues and making me sad, so I stopped writing for a time. Well, I finally got a new laptop and now I can actually type this thing with alacrity and without losing huge chunks of work to a glitchy app.

I'm sorry that it has been so long, I enjoy writing this story and I assume that there must be some of you out there that like reading it. I do have a minor issue with proofreading things before I publish them/turn them in, since I never really see the mistakes. So if you happen to see something, oddly placed/double words, extra commas instead of spaces, bad grammar, go ahead and shoot me a PM, I'll do what I can to fix it. And since this is done Sans-Beta, if anyone is interested, I would certainly like the help.

Anyway, last we saw our hero, for those of you that don't go back and reread the previous chapter (like me), he was in surgery, having the wounds of his encounter with Danni, Red John's new girl, stitched up. He was experiencing a severe hemorrhage and was pretty much on the verge of death, even though he was pretending not to be. Someone had smashed all the blood of his blood type and they had to take blood from Van Pelt and Cho to replace what he had lost.

Now that you're all caught up, go ahead and read! Do review when you are done, I'd like to know if you guys still find the story interesting or if I should change it up a bit. This is the last chapter with anything medical in the sense of terminology and explanation.

Thank you and enjoy

The first thing Jane was aware of as he woke up was that he was feeling better than he had in a long while. He'd managed to sleep soundly, no dreams at all. Well, one actually. It had been about Teresa and him, and a bed, but not much else. Normally, he would have squashed it but, they were engaged.

It was also the first morning in a long while that he took the luxury of slowly rousing himself, becoming aware of first one thing, then the next. Sort of like turning on an old computer. His sense of well-being was like the fans firing up to begin cooling the system. The next step, from what he understood, would be the drives beginning to spin, to access the necessary information; that would be him becoming cognizant of his surroundings.

The first thing he became aware of, outside of his own body, was Lisbon's presence very very near to him. He could smell the soft scent of her bodywash and shampoo, feel the heat of her body. That made him happy. Waking up next to her was something he had always dreamed about. Well, not always, and it had been more of a pipe dream.

The next thing he noticed was surprising and confusing. His scalp and hair were wet and there was something, fingers possibly, moving through his hair.

Suddenly, several pieces of information crashed down on him at once. His chest felt like it was covered in tape,

the skin was tight, there was a pinch in his arm, and he was hungry. He forced himself to actually wake up and be quick about it, too. He needed to figure out what was happening.

The hunger? Right, the month-long coma.

The tape and the tight skin? He had to push through a horribly constructed mental block and remembered... Red John. Danni. The knife. His hand. Dr. Stillman. Surgery; without anaesthetic... Oh, God. How could he have forgotten? Slept? The pain alone should have kept him awake.

He realized what the pinch in his arm was, the IV needle thing, the shunt. He had to be on some crazy pain killers to not feel his torso like he should. Tilting his head, he tried to read the bag hanging from the stand but his view was blocked by Lisbon. No, Teresa. His fiancé.

"Good morning, Patrick."

Shit, she looked exhausted. She must have stayed awake the whole time he was asleep.

He turned to look at her, but she straightened his face with a prod to his chin.

"You'll get shampoo in your eyes."

Shampoo? Then he understood.

"Teresa, are you washing my hair?"

She blushed and ducked her head. "Yes. I did it every third day. I washed your hair yesterday before you woke up, but you sweated horribly during surgery and there was a little bit of blood in it. Since you can't take another shower for the next week or so, I figured you would want it clean."

He smiled warmly at her, surprised that she would have done what she was doing, but also happy, too. She smiled back, tentatively.

Jane relaxed and closed his eyes, to let her continue on with washing his hair. He had never been one to deny that somebody else washing his hair felt good, and in fact, it was sending goosebumbs down his body. A flash of light-headedness brought him back to himself as what blood he now had left his brain as a spark of arousal began to flicker in his lower regions. It would be more than a little awkward to have to explain to Teresa, doctors, and nurses that he had blacked out because a hair-washing had sexually aroused him. He tamped the spark out and opened his eyes slightly.

Despite the fact that exhaustion had claimed her, Teresa, was quite beautiful. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail that fanned over her shoulder and she had a peaceful look on her face, as if she enjoyed what she was doing.

His eyes roved down her neck along the line of her shoulder and he smiled lazily. Amused he asked, "Did you run out of clothes?"

She blinked, seeming to come out of a trance. "What?" She looked down at her outfit and shook her head, continuing, "No."

"Becoming a nurse?"

Smirking at his pestering, she said, "Still, no."

"So why the scrubs?"

The smirk disappeared and Jane realized he had stepped into dangerous territory.

"My clothes were ruined. These were all Trace could find."

"Ruined? How?"

Lisbon looked down, seeming troubled. "The blood. Your blood, Patrick."

He sighed heavily and let his head sag in her hand. Lowering his voice as he closed his eyes he said, "That's unfortunate. I liked that shirt on you."

She stopped cupping water over his hair and blushed ferociously.

"Jane..." Her voice was strained, chiding almost.

"What? It's not flattery. Well, actually it is, but I am telling the truth. It's very pretty on you."

Lisbon smiled appreciatively and then chuckled.

"What?"

"I haven't done this since my brothers were really little. I was trying to picture you as a six year old."

Smirking, he said, "Great, I've been reduced to the little brother-zone. I really was hoping for more. Older brother's best friend-zone or older neighbor boy-zone would have been fine."

She blushed furiously."Jane!" Then stammered, "I really just was wondering what you were like as a little boy."

"I was a demon child," he explained.

"Besides," added Lisbon, " You fit more as the irritating younger neighbor boy who asks dumb questions and plays silly games all day."

"Then there is still hope!" Jane announced triumphantly, "The younger neighbor has won before and continues to win now!"

She laughed, making the room seem less hospital-y. "I bet you got into all sorts of trouble."

"Like I said, I was a demon child. I might have a picture or two."

"Really?"

"I snatched a photo album before I ran from the carnival."

Her eyebrows quirked up. "I might want-"

The Drs. Stillman walked into the room together and stood at the foot of his bed, while Lisbon continued to rinse soap from his hair.

He suddenly remembered the Stillmans from his initial investigation of Red John, seeing the pair together, while not in pain. They had been angry with each other, bitterly fighting, separated, and living on opposite sides of the country. They had two daughters, only ten months apart, who were apparently as close as any of the twins he had ever met. All four of them were doctors. Davis was a highly praised surgeon, one of the best in the emergency care profession. Trace, which was Gaelic for fierce (he had been informed of this after assuming Trace was short for Tracy), was a damn good phlebotomist, and was the one on the line team called when the patient had difficult veins or was resisting. She was also a transfusion specialist. And Emma and Ruby had both been pediatric surgeons. After a few years of working the hospitals, Ruby had decided to go the less stressful route and interview with a slew of local pediatric offices.

"Hello, Mr. Jane. Is it alright if I call you that?" asked Davis.

Jane nodded, causing Lisbon to tighten her grip on his forehead. "I was not in a good place last night."

"No," Davis shook his head. "I can assume not."

They were silent for a moment before Jane frowned.

"Can I get something to eat?"

The Stillmans nodded and Trace explained, "Light foods only. Broth, bread, jello. Things like that. You missed the lunch order, but I'll see if I can't get it up here quickly." She turned and left the room.

"You were very lucky, Mr. Jane. You were less than half an inch on the big one on your side from being relegated to IV nutrition. The tip of the knife nicked the outer layer of your intestines. Much deeper, and I would have to have used sutures. Then you wouldn't have been able to eat for a time."

"I was lucky she was an amateur."

"Amateur?"

"She was nervous. She had never done this before. Did she have surgical training?"

"To an extent. She was a OR nurse for a time."

He nodded thoughtfully, staring at the wall past Stillman. The room fell silent.

A moment passed before Jane looked up at the doctor. "What am I on? I barely feel a thing, yet I know the pain should be incapacitating."

"Dilaudid. It's a narcotic opioid. About eight times stronger than morphine. You need dosage every four hours, though. And be warned: when the relief starts to go, it goes fast. So make sure you remind the nurse."

He stopped again as Jane nodded absently.

Sighing, he spoke to Lisbon. "I'd like a private word with Mr. Jane and I would ask that you step out for-"

"No." Lisbon had her arms crossed defiantly under her breasts. "I apologize, Doctor, but there is no way after what happened yesterday that I am leaving Jane alone with anybody except members of my team. Anything you have to say to him, anything you have to do to him, you can say or do in front of me."

He nodded sadly. "I understand," he paused. "There is risk inherent with any surgical procedure. However, with the hemorrhaging that you experienced last night, there is another level of risk added. Around fifty percent of patients that experience a class four hemorrhage, which you were beginning to experience when Trace gave you the blood, die in the first month after the transfusion. Having received untreated blood transfusions in such a high proportions to your own blood, the risks are increased exponentially. Starting last night, I have you on a month's course of antibiotics and rejection-prevention IV medication. You will not leave the hospital in this time.

"I do not want to frighten you, but I've read about you, Mr. Jane, and I understand you do not like sugar-coatings. There is less than a 40% chance that you will survive the next month. I will do everything I can to keep you alive, but it is not guaranteed."

Lisbon's hands tightened in his hair, but she did not speak.

"I understand Doctor," he said seriously. His tone then brightened considerably, "Question, as long as I have my IV and a guard with me, can I wander around the floor? White is interesting on a dress, but not on a wall."

Stillman half-smirked at Jane's crack about the wall. "I have to disappoint you Mr. Jane, I want those sutures of yours to close completely before you put any stress on them. That includes walking. Not that you wouldn't want a chest of ripped stitches, but I wouldn't suggest it. Two weeks minimum."

"Until I can walk?"

"Yes. That is what I just said. And then another week, probably, until an Occupational Therapist can get you strong enough."

Jane sneered and leaned back into the bed.

"Mr. Jane," protested Stillman, "I understand your want to-"

"No," snapped Jane, "You don't. See yesterday, I was attacked in a very personal way by a serial killer."

"Yes, but-"

He pushed on. "And the day before that, in my mind, I visited the scene of a double homicide that almost exactly mimicked the scene of the murder of my wife and child by the same serial killer. It was terrible enough that I fell into a month-long coma to protect my mind. So although you understand what it is like to have a child killed by that man, you have no idea what I feel like."

He had leaned forward as his voice darkened. Slouching back, he smiled, his voice becoming bright again."I think what would help the most in this case is a sense of normalcy. If I was allowed to move around and observe things, it might actually do me some good."

Dr. Stillman's eyebrows raised, but he did not back down. He replied, his tone level, "In five days your sutures will have knit enough for minor strain. You will be allowed to be escorted through the halls in a wheelchair. Keep in mind, though, that this is at my discretion only."

He stalked out of the room stiff-backed.

"Jane..." Lisbon's voice was reproachful.

He sighed. "I know what you're thinking. But nobody knows what I feel like. I alone am unique in my situation."

She frowned for a moment, searching his face. Her eyes drifted down his body and focused on his side, where his biggest injury was, where the knife had gouged into his body.

"I'm sorry Patrick." He voice was soft and laced with guilt. "I just wasn't thinking how she would react when I shot her. If I had just waited for her to lift the knife-"

"Shhhh... Teresa. You saved my life. You have nothing to be guilty about."

She smiled weakly, relief showing on her face, but did not fully erase the guilt.

His mind drifted, contemplating why she might blame herself. Instead of coming up with an answer, he remembered his conversation with Red John.

"Teresa, he's a doctor," he said suddenly, almost frantic.

Lisbon was confused. "Stillman? Of course he-"

"No! Red John. I asked him to tell me why he became a killer. He told me since I was going to die. He was in the top 5% of his class at Johns Hopkins as a surgeon. A patient died on him and he became addicted. He said it was better than sex."

"Jane, that could just be random. He could have just made it up to satisfy you."

He shook his head and said adamantly, "No, he sounded really surprised at my interest and he had to think I was going to die."

The desperation and juvenile quality to his phrasing worried Lisbon. However, it was, she conceded to herself, acceptable considering what he had just gone through, so long as it didn't continue for very long.

"How are you going to prove that shooting her was not utilizing excessive force?" he asked. "It's her word against yours, and even though the rest of the team will say that you were acting in defense of me, she still only had a knife."

She smiled. "I have that taken care of, actually. There is, was in your last room, two micro-cameras with full audio. I had Van Pelt install them on the third or fourth day after they moved you here. I was getting uncomfortable about what was happening when I was sleeping. So I had Bertram sign off on surveillance. Before you ask, the signal transmits to two places: an encrypted database on Van Pelt's computer and on a hard drive at my house. Even if Red John steals or erases the one at the CBI, the one at my house is safe. Not only am I safe from any charge of excessive force, but we can prosecute her to the full extent of the law."

"Good."

She stayed silent but continued to rinse the soap out of his hair. It felt very good. He relaxed, letting the lukewarm water trickle down his neck. Eventually, she finished with the water and started to dry his hair with a towel, patting and scrubbing until it was nearly dry.

She sighed suddenly. He realized he had probably been too much enthralled by her washing his hair to notice the tension that had likely been in her hands.

"Jane, are you okay?"

He smiled softly at her as she moved around him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I know you are looking for a specific context, since this very room indicates that very little is okay with me."

She gave him a look that was both cross and relieved. "I meant how are you feeling? Emotionally."

It was his turn to sigh.

"In truth, I feel horrible. Violated. It's not really something I can describe. I feel like a part of me has been taken away. Like he stole some integral part of my persona and my sanity. I don't know how much more of him I can handle, Teresa, before I totally lose it. I can't go back to that place. I don't think I will make it back to you this time."

She took his hand and gently began to rub circles, the same path she had used the night before. They were silent for another long period of time.

"I want you to understand what I mean, not take offence."

He gave her an odd look. Why would he get mad at her?

"I've seen people," she continued, "Who've suffered a lot less than you have, even in just the last 30 hours. And they've let that eat them up. They get so far away from okay that they can't come back. But you aren't letting go. Despite everything, you are, at least on the surface, the same Jane I've always known. Why is that?"

"Because I can't."

"For your family?"

He shook his head. "No. I fell apart when they died." He lifted his gaze and held hers. "For you."

Her eyes widened, she looked almost confused.

He continued, "I saw that I had crushed you when I told you I loved you, then pretended to not remember. I watched as your heart broke when I came back from Vegas, and you learned I had been with his girl. I could have done something to make it up to you, to apologize, but I stuck to the game I was playing like the bastard I am because I thought it would draw him out.

"But I can't do that again, I can't break you again. Now that things are different, now that we are engaged, I'll try my hardest to be the man that I know you know is locked inside me."

Lisbon's face had gone pale and her hand tightened almost painfully around his.

"Teresa, what's wrong?"

She swallowed hard and looked at him.

"I'm so sorry." The words came out barely audible. "We're not engaged."