A/N: Your kind reviews, favorites, and indeed, those of you who are going back and catching up on my older stories, are really a huge ego boost, and I thank you all. I am late as usual in catching up on reviews, but I promise to respond very soon.

This chapter continues the shift in tone from the last, and I hope you continue to find that shift believable. The last part of this chapter is definitely "M", so either beware, or be ready. Please enjoy!

Chapter 10

They were eating Jane's breakfast picnic of bakery bear claws, coffee, and a pint of fresh strawberries, waiting for Lisbon's doctor to come into her room and let her know when she could leave this God-awful place. She hated hospitals. They weren't restful places, what with the sounds of machines and nurses waking you up all night with their constant poking and prodding. But despite being anxious to leave, she couldn't help but focus on her new consultant, who had seemed lost in thought as they shared their meal in relative silence.

"So," she began tentatively, "how are you feeling today, Jane?"

He deposited the leafy stem of a strawberry into the white bakery sack, chewing thoughtfully.

"You're the one with forty-two stitches in your leg, and you're asking if I'm okay? I'm fine, Teresa. Haven't felt this good in months, actually."

She nodded. Jane still looked tired and too thin, but the lines around his mouth and eyes did seem a little softer this morning. She wondered how he seemed so calm. Killing Red John must have brought back all the emotions from when his family had been murdered, plus an entirely new set of them, given he had killed a man.

"Still," she persisted gently, "what you did—who you killed—must have brought everything all back to you."

"It did," he replied, setting down his tea. "But it's done, and now I have to figure out what to do with my life. Well, if I have one outside prison walls, that is."

She reached for his hand, stilling it as he was about to pick another berry from the small carton. He met her eyes, and his seemed weary of the world.

"You won't go to jail, Jane. I'll personally see to it."

"Aw, Teresa, we've been over this already. I'm leaving it all to fate now, which means you need to stay out of it. I read once that he who tries to interfere with fate does so at his own peril—or something like that. I've done what I was fated to do, and I have no regrets about it, except of course, that you were hurt. Just relax and eat your bear claw, Agent Lisbon, and concentrate on your own recovery."

She didn't care much for his condescending tone, but he was spared her wrath when the doctor arrived. He lifted her blankets, and she turned to the side so he could pull back her bandage and admire his earlier handiwork.

"Looks good," he said. Doctor Cleary was very young and movie star handsome and Jane found he didn't like the admiring way Lisbon was looking at him. He got up and went to peer out the window feigning fascination with the hospital parking lot ten stories below.

"So when can I get out of here?" Lisbon asked.

"This afternoon, I imagine. If you have someone to look after you for a day or two, that is. You'll need someone until you can manage to get yourself in and out of the shower and fix your meals and such. Most houses and apartments aren't wheelchair ready, and you'll find it difficult with that injury to hobble around alone on crutches. I don't want to see you back here with a head injury."

"Well," she began. "I guess I could hire someone. I don't have any family nearby and all my friends are at work. I couldn't ask them to take off for me."

When she said these things aloud, she sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. It was the truth, though. She really did have no one outside of work she could rely on.

"Well, I'm not releasing you until you find someone. The other option is staying in the hospital a few more days…"

"No," she was quick to reply. "If you can recommend a nursing service—"

"I'll do it," said Jane from the window.

The doctor nodded in satisfaction before Lisbon could respond. "Good. I'll sign your paperwork, and you should be out of here in a couple hours. Make sure you get your pain med prescription filled, and keep those stitches dry. Stay off your feet as much as you can to give your leg time to heal a bit before you go about on crutches."

After a few more doctorly instructions, Cleary left, and Lisbon looked over at Jane, who was looking smugly back at her. He knew she was angry, but he didn't seem to care.

Her mind flashed back to earlier, at her embarrassment when he had carried her to the bathroom. Three more days of that? She didn't know if she'd make it.

"You had no right, Jane. I'll decide who takes care of me."

"Well, now you don't have to." With his eyes sparkling softly at her like that, she didn't have the will to argue with him. Besides, she was beginning to believe herself that Fate seemed to be having a hell of a time playing with her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was waiting in his Citroen at the hospital entrance as the orderly wheeled Lisbon out to meet her ride. After she'd showered (with the help of a nurse), she'd dressed in the hospital gift shop sweatpants and t-shirt he'd bought her, her feet in cheap flip-flop sandals, her face free of makeup, her hair in a messy ponytail. She felt as disheveled as she looked, disoriented and awkward, completely unused to needing anyone's help to do the simplest things. Jane got out of the car to help her inside, buckling her in, forcing her to inhale his masculine scent as he bent over her to fasten the archaic lap belt. He looked up from his job, and to her total surprise, kissed her sweetly on the lips.

"It's going to be all right, Teresa," he murmured. Before she could reply—as if she could whenever he kissed her—he'd shut her door and gone back around to the driver's side.

He drove easily—and quickly- through downtown traffic, and she found herself closing her eyes at times at the risks he took in weaving through the mire. He glanced over at her and grinned at her tense expression.

"Something wrong with my driving?"

"You drive like a cop on a call," she said, and it was ironic that she didn't mean it as a compliment.

"Never had an accident before," he claimed. "Not even a fender bender, so you can just relax and enjoy the ride."

"Yeah, right," she said, flinching as he barely missed hitting a car when he changed lanes. He chuckled softly, and naturally ramped up his breakneck techniques for her benefit.

As they merged onto the highway she looked around in consternation. "You're going the wrong way," she told him.

"The hotel is this way."

"Hotel?"

"Teresa, your apartment is still a crime scene. I went over there early this morning and police tape was all over the place, plus, it was crawling with reporters. I'm afraid we're the top story today. I called Minelli and he said you can't get in there for another day or two, so my next call was to make other arrangements."

She was taken aback by this information. "Of course," she said. "What was I thinking?"

His hand came over to rest on hers in her lap. "You don't have to think at all right now. Let me take care of everything."

When she turned her trusting green eyes to him, Jane felt something shift in the region of his heart. It had been a long time since he'd taken care of anyone, even himself. He felt responsible for what had happened to her, so the least he could do was take care of her in her recovery. He'd even dipped into his idle old bank account to pay for a luxury hotel suite in a swanky part of the city. It even had a lovely view of the American River from the balcony. Oh, she would protest, insist it was too much, offer to pay her half, but he was bound and determined that she let him repay her earlier kindness to him tenfold. And she would soon discover that no one could get in the way of a bound and determined Patrick Jane.

Her expression as they drove up the palm tree lined road to the hotel was worth every penny, he thought. She gasped in amazement.

"Jane, you didn't. I can't afford a place like this."

"I know," he said easily. "That's sort of the point."

She brought forth all of her predicted protests, which he politely ignored or answered with noncommittal noises to let her know he'd heard her, but he still helped her into the wheelchair the bellman had provided, pushing her into the opulent lobby as the porter went ahead with his luggage.

The manager himself came from behind the counter to greet them.

"Mr. Jane, welcome back. So nice to see you again; it's been too long."

Jane shook hands with the man. "Thanks, Charlie. This is Agent Teresa Lisbon, your guest of honor."

The man smiled and shook her hand as well. "Everything is in order as you requested, Mr. Jane. Justin can escort you to your suite. And if there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

Charlie bestowed a beneficent grin and raised a hand in the direction of the bellboy. A young man in his early twenties arrived, obviously pleased to see Jane as well, and Jane knew why. Jane had probably made quite a dent in Justin's college tuition with his generous tips.

"Mr. Jane! Good to have you back. And this must be your lovely wife you always spoke so much about."

There was immediate, palpable tension for a moment, and Jane paled briefly, but then he covered his discomfort with a smile. "No, this is my lovely boss, Teresa."

"Oh, sorry. Welcome to you too, Miss."

Charlie had overheard the conversation and practically broke his neck to rush over and repair the damage.

"Forgive, Justin, sir. Young people, today, so involved in their own worlds. Our apologies for the misunderstanding."

"No harm done," said Jane. Justin looked slightly baffled, but he recovered quickly. Jane did not envy Justin the talking-to he'd get later by his own boss.

"May I show you to your suite?"

"Please," said Jane.

The ride in the elevator was awkward and Jane forwent the grand tour of their two-bedroom suite, slipping Justin his usual hefty tip and sending him on his way. Lisbon sat in her wheelchair in the middle of the living area, wide-eyed at its elegance.

"You've been here many times, apparently," she said when he joined her.

"Yes. I stayed here on business once upon a time," he said, then added: "Alone."

Indeed, he'd chosen this hotel specifically because he'd never brought Angela here. He knew that because he had been such a generous patron in the past, Charlie and the excellent staff would cater to his every need on extremely short notice. Looking around the suite, however, he hoped he'd be able to get past the sudden onslaught of memories.

"Well, it's beautiful," she said. "And entirely over the top."

"So you've said ad nauseum. You're here; make the best of it. You're room's to your right, I believe. It's the one with the handicap shower," he said with a slight smirk.

"Great. Thanks." She wheeled herself toward the open door, grateful he hadn't offered to help. She'd like to retain as much independence as she could. Her room was beyond beautiful, California modern, with a balcony and a million dollar view of the river and downtown Sacramento. But it was what was laid out on her bed that most impressed her. Three pairs of neutral colored yoga pants, three soft t-shirts in emerald, brown, and black; three panties, three bras (the sight of which made her blush), and a sleep shirt-all exactly her size, of course. For her feet, sinfully comfy-looking slippers.

She felt eyes upon her and looked toward the door, where Jane was casually leaning against the doorframe.

"Since we couldn't get into your apartment for some clothes, I thought I'd get you something comfortable to wear for a few days. Does everything look okay?"

Suddenly, Lisbon felt very overwhelmed, and to her dismay, she found her eyes watering. Jane went to her side and squatted down by her chair.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know why I'm so weepy. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Everything is perfect. Thank you."

"You're tired. You're in pain. It's understandable. Why don't I help you climb into bed and take a nap. I'll run to the pharmacy and pick up your prescription. When I get back, we'll order room service. The sky's the limit."

She nodded, feeling the mental and physical exhaustion setting in. He smiled warmly, then pulled the bedclothes back invitingly. He bent to remove her sandals.

"Good. Now, you know the drill. Put your arm around my neck…"

For the second time that day, he was carrying this warm woman in his arms, and he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't affecting him. He felt it in her small body as well, in the way she trembled, the way her breathing audibly increased. He laid her gently on the white cotton sheets, helping her settle her sore leg in a comfortable position before pulling up the goose down comforter. The entire time he felt her green gaze upon him, and he dared not look or he knew he would be lost.

"There," he said, pulling the comforter to her chest. "Snug as a bug…"

"Thanks," she whispered. He straightened, avoiding her eyes as he prepared to leave.

"Jane," she said, just as he released her. She held onto his hand before he could back away. "Would you mind…staying awhile?"

It was hard admitting to herself, let alone to Jane, that she didn't want to be alone. She'd never felt uncomfortable on her own before, and she wondered whether it was residual fear from the night before or the selfish desire to keep him close to her that had her acutely feeling his loss even before he'd left. She was inordinately pleased when he pulled a chair from the sitting area closer to her bed.

"Would you like to talk, or do you want to try to get some sleep?" he asked. "But no matter how much you beg me, I won't be singing any lullabies."

Her lips formed an amused smile. "Don't worry; I hadn't even thought of asking. No, it would be nice if you would just sit there until I fall asleep. Would you mind?"

"Not at all," he said softly.

Suddenly, Jane was no longer afraid to look into her eyes, but just as he had feared, when he did, he was well and truly lost.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon awoke in the night to find her room dark, and Jane gone from his chair. She felt a brief instant of panic, but then her eyes focused on the shifting light beneath the door leading to the living area. As she listened intently, she realized he must be watching television. She switched on the lamp by her bed and sat up, her stomach growling and her leg throbbing. A bottle of prescription pain medication sat on the bedside table along with a glass of water. Jane must have gone out while she was sleeping.

She shook her head to herself as she opened the bottle and took a pill. It was funny how the world could shift in an instant. Here she'd spent days trying to make him come out of his shell, to let her help him and see to his needs, and now, after a few terrifying minutes, their roles had been dramatically reversed. Lisbon had always been the caretaker. From the day her mother died, she'd seen to the needs of her drunken, broken father and her three younger brothers, and now she took care of her team. It was strange to have someone take care of her, and if it were anyone else, she would have protested much more vehemently. But this was Jane, and she sensed that his helping her wasn't just to her own benefit; it was helping him to heal as well.

Jane seemed to like being needed, being able to focus on someone else besides Red John and his own pain. The way he took control of the situation, made all these thoughtful arrangements, gave her a glimpse into the man he must have been before Red John. She found she very much liked what she saw, understood why Angela Jane must have loved him. So Lisbon would let him have this, her independence be damned—at least for a few days.

The bathroom called to her again, and she gingerly swung her legs to the floor. Her wheelchair was nearby, but she didn't feel like the hundred and one awkward moves it would take to get into it and roll herself to the bathroom. She settled for crawling on the floor. It was a painful trek but she managed on her own, even hopping on one foot to wash her hands and face at the sink. On the vanity was every toiletry she could possibly need for her brief stay, and she smiled once again at Jane's thoughtfulness. He was an amazing man.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection as she thought of Jane and it made her pause. Who was that woman in the mirror, her eyes bright and glowing, her cheeks pink? Her hair was tousled, almost as if it had been caused by a man's wandering hands. She flushed even more at her own musings, and then she recalled an image of him above her on her couch, skin dappled by the moonlight, and her pulse leapt.

She jumped at the soft tap on the bathroom door.

"Teresa?" he asked. Speak of the devil, she thought, and he appears. She reached up to slide the ponytail holder from her hair, then hastily ran a brush through her messy locks.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm in here."

"You shouldn't have done this by yourself," he chided through the door. "Why didn't you call for me?"

"I managed fine on my own," she said. "But I wouldn't mind a little help getting back to bed. Come on in; the door's open."

She watched in the mirror as he entered, looking comfortable and sexy in blue pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, his face registering surprise to see her standing upright, albeit on one foot. Then his eyes locked onto hers, and in an instant, he seemed to know that she'd been thinking about him. He grinned lazily, and it occurred to her (not for the first time) that when he looked at her like that, he was the sexiest man she'd ever seen. The devil indeed. His grin widened as he read her mind again.

"Stop that," she said in embarrassed annoyance.

"Why, Lisbon, I have no idea what you're talking about."

He walked up behind her and put his hands on her waist. She watched, spellbound, as he brushed aside her hair and planted a light kiss on her neck, the feel of his lips making her shiver.

"You really do have psychic powers, don't you?" she said, her voice shaking.

"No," he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror again. "I'm just paying attention."

He bent his knees and lifted her easily into his arms again, toeing open the door all the way before carrying her out of the bathroom. His eyes never left hers.

"I'm actually tired of being in bed," she said. "Were you watching TV?"

"Yes. Would you like to join me?"

She nodded, and then her stomach growled its two cents.

"Hungry? Well I would imagine, since you missed the early dinner I had planned."

"What time is it?" she asked as he set her on the couch before the giant flat screen television mounted on the wall. He joined her, sitting casually on the leather cushion next to her.

"It's almost ten o'clock."

"I bet room service is closed," she said in disappointment.

"Maybe for some," he said smugly, picking up the house phone. "What do you desire, my lady?"

She thought a moment. "A cheeseburger—no onions- and fries. A chocolate milkshake. And…a bowl of blueberries. No—make that a slice of blueberry pie."

He raised an eyebrow at her calorie-laden choices. She shrugged. "I'm a growing girl."

"Your wish, etcetera, etcetera…" He pressed the button for room service and placed her order, adding a club sandwich and a cup of tea for himself.

"You didn't eat?" she asked.

"No. I was waiting for you." The simple statement touched her more than she could say.

While they waited for their meal, Lisbon turned up the TV and tuned into the local news. As Jane had said earlier, the killing of Red John was the day's top story. She watched as the surreal video of her own apartment appeared on the screen, along with her official CBI photo, as they related the status of her injuries and her current position with the bureau. And then the story focused on Jane. As the female reporter narrated, footage of Jane's last fateful appearance on that talk show flashed before the world, then pictures of the crime scene from his house in Malibu, more stock pictures of a smiling Angela and Charlotte, and finally, the macabre bloody red smiley face, which cleverly was replaced by the face of Red John.

Lisbon felt her heart pounding as she beheld the man who'd murdered Jane's family and had almost killed her. It was an old photo, likely taken from a high school yearbook. She felt Jane take her cold hand in his.

"John Rosso, using the assumed name of Brett Partridge, was believed to have been killed in a car accident two years ago."

They went on to detail the events surrounding Kyle Rosso's suicide, Mrs. Rosso's subsequent murder, before profiling a few of Red John's other known victims. Then the California State Attorney General was shown in a recently taped interview. Lisbon scooted forward on the couch to listen.

"Will there be charges filed against Patrick Jane?" asked the reporter. "There are rumors of inconsistencies with his statements and the official reports from forensics."

"These inconsistencies are negligible and completely understandable, considering the confusion surrounding Agent Lisbon's attack and Mr. Jane's subsequent shooting of the serial killer known as Red John. No, there will be no charges filed against Mr. Jane. As a matter of fact, I'd like to formally offer my gratitude to him on behalf of the State of California. We should think of Mr. Jane as a hero, who not only saved Teresa Lisbon's life, but likely prevented countless others from future harm."

"What about a motive, Mr. Attorney General? Any clues as to what prompted Red John's reign of terror?"

"We have no idea at this time, Nicole," he replied, looking directly into the camera. "And chances are, we never will…"

"Oh, my God, Jane!" She exclaimed, turning on the couch to where he was reclining calmly, ready to hug him in relief. "You're in the clear!"

"So it would seem," he said mildly.

Then it dawned on her. "Wait—you already knew, didn't you?"

"Yes. While you were sleeping, the AG called. I met with him downstairs. Turns out Minelli had greased a few wheels for me. The AG told me he knew what had likely happened, but he didn't want to waste the taxpayer's money on a case that he wouldn't win with either a jury or in the court of public opinion. He thanked me for killing the bastard and said to look for his announcement on the ten o'clock news."

"Good old Minelli," said Lisbon with a smile.

"Yes," said Jane. "I owe him a huge debt."

They regarded each other quietly, a mixture of gratitude and other swirling emotions clouding their features. What would this mean for Jane now? What would it mean for them?

Room service arrived and they absently watched the rest of the news while they ate on the coffee table before the couch. They shared the hefty slice of blueberry pie. Lisbon yawned, the painkiller making her drowsy again.

"Would you like to go to bed?" he asked. He was surprised to see her face flush at the question. He grinned. "I meant to sleep, but if you're extending an invitation with that blush…"

"Yes," she replied quickly.

He swallowed. "To which question?"

"To both?" she offered breathlessly.

"Teresa, you're injured, you're doped up on pain meds, and I've already taken advantage of you once already. We've both been through—"

"A lot. I know. But what if I told you I don't want to be alone in that big, expensive bed? What if I told you that my offer still stands—no strings? And what if I told you that if you leave tomorrow, you won't have to feel guilty about tonight, because this is what I wanted, what I needed, what I asked for?"

Her hands found his across the couch. "Besides," she continued though her pounding heart nearly drowned out the words as she spoke them, "you owe me one."

His brows raised. "You're keeping score now? That doesn't sound like no strings to me."

But he didn't seem like he was saying no exactly, so she tried again, fearful now that he could easily resist her, that she'd have to live with the sting of rejection.

"I'm sorry if I presumed too much," she ventured, looking up at him from beneath sable lashes. "Maybe you really don't want me after all..."

Before the last word had fallen from her lips, he'd risen from the couch and picked her up in his usual fashion, then bent his head to kiss her, his tongue plundering her mouth mercilessly. After a passionate minute, he pulled away, his eyes smoldering into hers.

"Don't ever play coy, Teresa," he whispered. "it's beneath you, and with me, totally unnecessary."

He walked with her to the bedroom, stopping halfway to kiss her again, as her free hand went to his hair. When they finally made it to the bed, he set her gently down, then hurriedly pulled his t-shirt over his head while she did the same with hers. His pajama bottoms were next, his mouth fairly watering as he watched her undress. She hadn't been wearing a bra, and her small, perfect breasts looked golden in the lamplight. She caught him staring, so reached over to turn off the light.

"Leave it on," he said hoarsely. "I want to admire the view."

Her color heightened even more, especially when he removed his boxer shorts and kneeled on the end of the bed. His body was beautiful, slim yet evenly muscled, his abdomen flat, his chest smooth and strong, his thighs well-formed and lightly furred. He could use a few pounds, but when her eyes settled on his sex, his desire for her more than obvious, her self-consciousness fled and she relaxed against the pillows, admiring her own view.

He smiled at her knowingly and leaned forward to take hold of the waistband of her sweatpants, gently rolling them down over her hips and thighs, his eyes never leaving hers. When he got to her calves, he slowed down, using infinite care as he slid the soft material over her injury.

"You okay?" he asked, when he heard her slight intake of breath.

"Yes. It's just a little sore. And no, that's not an excuse for you to stop…"

"Don't worry, Agent Lisbon. I'll be gentle with you," he said, eyes sparkling as he admired how fetching she looked in only her simple black panties. He removed her last garment with equal care, then he climbed over her, holding his body away from hers with strong arms and legs. When he bent to capture her lips in a lingering kiss, she reached up to pull him down to her, but he resisted.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured into her neck. His words were fraught with double meaning.

"You'll hurt me more if you hold back," she said, and she meant that in every way possible.

He lowered himself gently to her body, and they both caught their breaths at the beauty of heated skin against skin. He reached down, bending her injured leg to keep from inadvertently pressing his weight too hard on it. He kissed her again on the mouth, then paused at the indention beneath her throat, kissing the bandage there reverently.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and when he met her eyes, his were watery as his feelings of rage and helplessness returned.

She reached her fingertips to trace the damp laugh lines near his eyes.

"You saved me," she reminded him.

He held her fingers to his mouth, tasting his own tears before he smiled and moved on to her breasts. He took his time this time, learning their shape, their taste, their satiny texture beneath his tongue. She shook and sighed as the moisture increased between her legs. She held him tightly to her, nearly pulling his hair in her rapture. His head moved lower, and he grinned against her stomach at the sharp pain in his scalp.

His intended destination was obvious, and her legs began to tremble uncontrollably in anticipation as he kissed her inner thighs. But instead of going directly where she wanted him most, he continued his journey down her legs, raising first one, then the other, pausing to kiss near the bandage of her dully-aching calf, then the bottom of each small foot. Her legs bent and open to him, feet now flat on the bed, he lowered his mouth and found her with one deep swipe of his tongue.

Her low moan reverberated in the large room, and her head thrashed from side to side on the feather pillow as he alternated with slow licks and light flicks. He made her hips fairly rise off the bed as he suckled her and employed his fingers at the same time. It wasn't long before she began to feel the delicious tension building within her. He sensed she was close, so he slowed his movements, wanting to feel her clenching around him when she came.

She cried out in protest when he finally left her, and he laughed softly at her plight. He was a bit frustrated himself, feeling ready to explode at any moment.

"Please," she begged. But he didn't rush to comply.

He lowered his body to hers, pausing at her entrance while he kissed her lips and smiled softly into her eyes. She smiled back, then, chest rising and falling impatiently, she surprised him by raising her hips and taking him inside her body. Her hands lowering to grasp his firm buttocks, she maneuvered him to just the right angle to make them both gasp in ecstasy.

She felt him tremble within her, and then, with a soul deep sigh, he thrust forcefully forward. Jane's world narrowed to only her, her raw cries filling his ears, the heavenly tightness of her body surrounding him, her delicate fragrance mixing with the faint tang of clean sweat and sex. When he circled his hips, she let out a keening wail as she found her release at last. Her inner convulsions brought him over at almost the same time, just as he'd planned, and they cried out in mutual satisfaction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Long minutes later, Lisbon turned out the light and threw the covers haphazardly over their cooling bodies. Jane laid his head on her chest, his arms encircling her waist, listening to the flutter of her heart beneath his ear. He realized that no matter what he did from that moment onward, whether he chose to stay in Sacramento, or find his way back to some semblance of his old life, he would remember this moment as a defining one.

He drifted off to sleep, sated, but knowing it would only take one touch from her to reignite his passion. This, he thought, in his last moments of awareness, this was how everyone should begin their life anew.

A/N: Yes, one more chapter to go. I'm sure you're wondering how I can end it after this, but I promise to try to make it satisfying for everyone. Thanks for reading!