Wow, it's almost been a month since I last updated. That's really bad. My only excuses are work and a complete lack of inspiration for a while. Luckily I was able combat this by watching my Season 1 DVD's.

Big thankyous to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I expected the twist would have got some people offside and I was very interested to find out your views.

This chapter is kind of a mixed bag, with the customary angst and a teeny tiny sprinkling of fluff in there too.

Disclaimer: You all know it's not mine.

When people entered the emergency ward that day, they saw the usual things one would expect to see in a hospital. They saw piles of outdated magazines. They saw people waiting to get seen with limbs stuck out at odd angles or throwing up into a basin being held by a slightly nauseated looking companion. They saw the reception desk with a nursing sister behind it with an air of calm professionalism like all this sickness and misery was nothing new to her.

They saw a man in a chair a few feet away from the reception desk, quite alone. They looked away. And then they did a double take when they managed to process exactly what they were seeing.

The first thing they would notice would be the blood that stained his clothes all over. From there, the more keen observer would note that the man himself had no such injuries that would cause such a lot of blood loss and that the blood could not possibly belong to him.

He looked like he'd just escaped the set of a bad slasher flick, but not even the greatest actor in the world could have faked the despair his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the opposite wall and he seemed oblivious to the whispers and stares he was attracting, for even as his body sat in the hallway, his mind was in the operating theatre with Lisbon as she fought for her life. She had to claw her way back from the dark place he himself had sent her to and he hoped her fighting spirit would not fail her now, when she needed it the most.

She had to survive this. She had to. He didn't care what happened to him from here on out, but he couldn't let her pay the price for his moment of insanity.

As he thought about it now, he could not understand how he had done that. How could all the love and trust he had for her just be erased from his memory so quickly? How could years of working side by side become an insignificant side note to his murderous rage in a split second?

Her scream. That terrible scream that he dearly hoped he would never have to hear again in his life.

"Sir?"

The redheaded nurse was back. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I understand that you're distressed," she said in hushed tones, "but your wife won't be out of surgery for a while. Maybe you'd like to go and get yourself cleaned up? There's a restroom just down the hall."

"She's not my wife," he said, in a disembodied voice that was not his own. His wife indeed. It was an insult to her for the nurse even to suggest it. As if a sadistic creature like himself would ever deserve someone as wonderful as Lisbon. He wasn't fit to shine her shoes, let alone be her husband.

"I'm sorry," said the nurse. "I saw your ring and I thought-" She pointed at Jane's left hand.

"You thought wrong!" he snapped at her. "You should be more cautious about making assumptions. Not a good idea."

Apparently she had been in this line of work for a while, as she didn't get upset, accepting the outburst with a good grace.

"Once again, my apologies," she went on calmly. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." She returned to her desk.

For the lack of anything better to do, and unable to sit still a moment longer, Jane eventually did shuffle his way down the hall to the restroom. He pushed open the door, grateful that there was nobody else inside and proceeded across the room to one of the sinks.

Blood everywhere. On his hands, his clothes, his face, even some through his hair from when he'd run his fingers through it in frustration. Two sets of blood covered him and neither was his own. Some from the devil that had been Red John, some from the angel that was Teresa Lisbon. Her precious blood. Another flashback to that scene, feeling her breaths becoming less and less as her life ebbed away, her eyes closing and refusing to open again.

He retched, feeling his body heaving as he bent over the sink. Her scream was still resonating inside his head, like a broken record that he couldn't turn off.

He pulled off his ruined suit jacket and threw it aside, turned the tap on full blast and felt the sudden shock of the cold water as he scrubbed furiously at his hands. He pushed the soap dispenser again and again until his hands were overflowing with the liquid. As he rinsed it away, the water ran red.

From his pocket he drew out her necklace and held it under the gushing water. The pressure dislodged the blood that was still on it, until it was flawlessly silver once again. He wiped it dry on his pants. Now all there was left to do was put it back where it belonged, around her neck.

Back in his chair, his attention was caught by the sound of the doors opening. One of the doctors who had been rushing her into surgery emerged, pulling off his mask.

He sprang to his feet and accosted the surgeon before he could walk another step.

"How's she doing?"

"They're still working on her," he said. "The wound was deep and the blood loss is significant."

"Is she going to make it?" Jane pressed.

The surgeon paused. The years of medical training he'd undertaken had done little to prepare him for the realities of dealing with the families of his patients. Was it better to give them hope, or to start preparing them for the worst? Every case was different, every patient unique.

This young woman was healthy and strong, but the severity of her injuries afforded no guarantee that she would pull through. In the end, he put it as truthfully as he could.

"She's not out of the woods yet. You should be prepared."

Jane wanted to grab the doctor, shake him, tell him he was wrong, wrong, a thousand times wrong. She was no ordinary woman, she'd beaten the odds before and she could do it again, and what the hell was he doing wasting time out here when he should be in there, saving her life?

But he didn't. He merely nodded silently and backed away, the doctor's words ringing in his ears.

Be prepared. How could one ever possibly prepare for something as horrible as the death of a loved one? No matter if it was sudden, like a car accident or a long time coming like a terminal illness, it was always a shock, it turned your whole world upside down and it made you wonder if the human race was ever meant to survive the gut-wrenching pain you were in.

When he'd lost his family, everything had been a blur for a while. More than once in the first few days after the murders, he'd seriously considered just ending it. The pain was so raw, so intense, that he'd thought he'd never be able to feel anything else ever again. Gradually over time, the pain turned into anger and suddenly, his life had purpose again. Murderous, evil purpose, mind you, but enough to give him a reason to even bother getting up in the morning.

And then she had come along, and he'd found his life had reshuffled itself once again. There'd suddenly been faint glimmers of hope in amongst the despair. Every so often there were moments of laughter and light to counteract the overwhelming darkness.

There had to be something more the doctors could do for her. They could try experimental drugs or herbal remedies or even ritualistic fire dances for all he cared, so long as he could walk into her room at the end of it all and see her sitting up in bed, see those eyes flick towards him again, probably plotting a slow and painful death for him, but alive. It was the only thing he cared about now, everything else was meaningless.

He looked around, but the doctor was nowhere to be seen. He leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and let his mind wander. It landed on a time some years ago, before all this madness had happened.

It was just after they'd started working together and they were visiting a victim's family. It had been raining hard that day, and so the ground was sodden and dotted here and there with puddles.

She'd been wearing a green sweater, he recalled, a deep, emerald green that matched her eyes to a tee. Her hair had been twisted up at the back of her head with a plain black barrette. She was scowling as they walked out of the house together; he'd been a little blunt with the family, with the result that they'd been asked to leave without any information.

"What the hell is your problem?" she'd snapped at him as the door shut behind them. "Those people aren't your toys to play with and torture, they're in real pain."

"The sooner they can start accepting what's happened, the sooner they can begin to heal," he'd told her matter-of-factly. Early in their partnership, he was still testing out the boundaries of exactly how far he could push her before the point of no return. They went down the stairs of the front porch and ended up standing next to the Suburban.

"You hypocrite. If you call your little vigilante mission you've got planned a healing process I think you need another trip to the spiritual retreat" she'd said. He'd been surprised at her unwillingness to tiptoe around him like many of her colleagues, whom would never have dared to mention his past to him so bluntly, if at all. He'd been impressed by her candour.

"Everyone finds comfort in different ways," he said. "While my more unorthodox approach doesn't work for everyone, I reserve the right to grieve in any way I please."

She'd walked right up to him, into his personal space and spoken in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Jane, you are not the first person ever to have lost people you love, and I can guarantee that you won't be the last. I am truly sorry for what happened to you, but it's no excuse for the way you behaved in there. You don't just work for yourself now, you work for me and what you do reflects on me as well."

"Who died that you know?" he asked then, studying her face. He'd never been this close to her before and now that he was, he hadn't been able to help noticing that she was rather attractive. He supposed her slightly aggressive demeanour drew one's attention away from her more alluring features most of the time, but she was certainly not lacking in the looks department. "It must have been someone close to you…a sibling or a parent perhaps?"

She stepped sharply back from him. "That's none of your business," she snapped again. "Because you see, unlike you, I don't feel the need to publicize the skeletons in my closet every chance I get."

"Ah," he said, lowering his voice. "But you do admit there are skeletons. That's very interesting."

"If you like the shape of your nose the way it is, then keep it out of my private life," she said sharply. "Don't think that just because Minelli gave you a job, you're untouchable. We do things my way. Got it?

"A stirring and impassioned speech Agent Lisbon," he said dryly. "You've been practising that one since you were what, twelve?" He shot her a smile as she glowered at him. "You needn't worry, I don't need to poke around much when it comes to you. Your body language is telling me everything I need to know."

Far from calming her down, this insight served only to make her even angrier. "The only thing you need to know is this," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "Don't cross me, or I swear you will regret it."

"Is that a threat Agent Lisbon?" he enquired, stepping forward to close the gap between them. She stood her ground.

"You're the psychic," she said in that low, menacing voice he'd become so familiar with over the years. "You tell me."

That was the moment when he'd first suspected that in Teresa Lisbon, he'd got more than he had bargained for. His previous experience with police work had lead him to the conclusion that cops were pretty much all cut from the same cloth. But there was something about this one that made him question that notion. He had a feeling that she might just be different.

And she'd been proving him right ever since.

"Jane!" The voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He looked around and saw three people coming towards him. Cho, his face as impassive as ever, Van Pelt, pale and worried-looking, and Rigsby, trying to keep it together but given away by his shaking hands.

A glance at the clock on the wall told Jane he'd been here for nearly three hours now. This was the part he'd been dreading, explaining to the team what had happened. Part of him really didn't want to tell them; he wanted as few people as possible to hear of his betrayal, but in his heart of hearts he knew he had no choice.

"What happened to Lisbon?" asked Cho the moment they reached him, never one to beat about the bush.

"Is she going to be all right?" asked Van Pelt at the same time.

Looking for any reason to put off the inevitable just a little longer, Jane responded to her question first.

"They took her into theatre as soon as we got here. I haven't seen her since, but I talked to her doctor and he said she's hanging in there, for now."

"Of course she is," said Rigsby, trying to sound confident. "That's Lisbon." He gave a weak smile, and Van Pelt too, looked heartened. Cho's expression did not change, as if it were carved out of stone.

"What happened to her?" he repeated, eyes boring into Jane's, giving him the horrible feeling that he might suspect something.

"It's a long story," said Jane, playing for time.

"Nobody's going anywhere for a while," said Cho as he and the other two sank into chairs. "Start talking."

An odd thing happened then. At Cho's words it was like a floodgate inside Jane had suddenly opened and before he knew what he was doing, it all came spilling out. The letter on his door. The sudden rush of blinding panic when he read it. Calling her that night and how hearing her voice had made up his mind. The beginning of the Sterling case. Performance reviews. Promising her so faithfully that this time he was going to play it straight.

He'd been carrying all this within himself for so long now that it was like some of the weight was being lifted from his shoulders as he talked.

The story went on. The altercation with Robertson the fisherman and Lisbon getting in trouble. Being left behind at the office while she went to pursue new leads. Those photos Red John had taken of her. The second message. Waiting on tenterhooks for her to come back to the office and the overwhelming relief when she finally had. Breaking into her office and their subsequent fight. Sabotaging the operation at Tovis's, the way she'd slapped him after she'd been fired. The third message, when he found out she'd been taken.

A stunned silence greeted this news, eventually broken by Cho.

"How long did he have her for?" he asked, glaring accusingly at Jane.

"Almost a week," said Jane. Van Pelt gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "But I didn't know until today."

"And why the hell didn't you tell us?" Cho demanded to know, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"There wasn't time. As soon I figured out where he was holding her I went straight away."

"I don't just mean about that," said Cho. "You should have told us everything right from the start."

"I wanted to," Jane said. "I really did, but I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping you guys out of it."

"Are you insane?" Rigsby said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Look, if Red John had even suspected me of double-crossing him I'm sure he would've killed her. I couldn't take that risk."

"We could've protected her," said Rigsby.

"No you couldn't!" Jane exploded. "Don't you remember Bosco and his team, slaughtered in our own house? One way or another, he would've gotten to her and she'd be dead by now. I was trying to keep her safe!"

"Yeah and you sure did a fantastic job of that," said Rigsby sarcastically. "Do you not see where we are?"

"Rigsby's right, Jane," said Van Pelt, speaking for the first time. "This was way too big for you to handle on your own, you should've told us."

Jane felt like a disobedient child being scolded by his parents and felt suddenly angry with them all. What right did they have to lecture him like this? He was certain that if any one of them had been in his position they'd have done exactly the same thing. Anyway, he really didn't need their disapproval right now; his own guilt was doing a good enough job of eating him up from the inside, all on its own.

"There's no point getting mad at me now," he snapped at them all. "It's done."

Rigsby looked like he wanted to argue some more but Cho silenced him with a look. "Tell us the rest," he told Jane.

He'd come too far to stop now, so Jane drew a deep breath and launched into the rest of the story.

Arriving at the house to find her weak but alive, Red John telling him that to get to him he'd have to kill her first.

Van Pelt went pale at this, Rigsby swore under his breath and kicked the chair next to him.

This was it. The moment of truth. In a flat sort of voice, and not making eye contact with anyone, he described the way he'd held the knife over her but hadn't been able to do it. How he and Red John had fought. How he'd somehow managed to get the upper hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Van Pelt reach for Rigsby's hand.

He told them about the gunshot and the realization of what Lisbon had done. Try as he might, he couldn't quite explain the pounding fury that had overcome him as he described the way he had run at her, and…

He couldn't even bear to think it, let alone say it.

Rigsby let out a strangled sort of yelp and Van Pelt gripped his hand even harder, making it obvious to Jane that they had connected the dots, that his ultimate treachery had finally been revealed.

Tears glistened in Van Pelt's eyes, and she was squeezing Rigsby's hand so hard now that he was wincing in pain.

"How could you?" she asked Jane, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. Then, quite abruptly, she let go of Rigsby's hand and fled down the hallway towards the bathroom. Pausing just long enough to throw Jane a look of deepest loathing, Rigsby dashed after her.

Jane could feel Cho's gaze on him as if he were under a microscope. Slowly, he lifted his head to meet his eyes. No longer impassive, Cho's entire body seemed to be shaking with fury and he fixed Jane with a glare so menacing, Jane half expected to be burnt to a crisp on the spot.

Never in all his years of having known him, had Jane ever seen Cho look so angry. It was in that instant he began to truly grasp the deep-seated loyalty Cho had for Lisbon, and if that weren't enough, he certainly got the picture when the other man punched him.

Jane crashed to the ground, spluttering for breath as the hard punch to his guts had knocked the wind out of him. He heard a woman shriek and several pairs of running feet as hospital security guards rushed forward. Cho made no attempt to fight them off as they grabbed at him, instead looking down at Jane gasping on the floor with total disgust as if he were something repulsive that had just crawled out of the mud.

"All right you," the burliest of the security guards snarled at Cho. "Outside. This is a hospital not an underground fight club." Between the four of them they started to haul him towards the door.

"Wait," Jane managed to choke out, holding onto a chair leg to help him pull himself to his feet. "Let him go."

The guards all exchanged puzzled looks.

"You sure?" the burly one asked.

"Yeah," Jane coughed. "It's OK. Just a little misunderstanding amongst friends." He attempted a smile, but had a feeling it may have come out as more of a grimace.

Reluctantly, the guards released Cho and returned to their posts, all the while muttering to one another and casting furtive looks over their shoulders at the two of them.

When they were alone again, Jane turned to Cho who was still regarding him with that same look of revulsion. He had no idea what he could possibly say to make this situation any better but still, he had to try.

"Look," he began. "I know I deserved that, and a whole lot more besides, but you've got to believe me when I say I didn't know what I was doing. I just lost control for a split second and then…" He trailed off, still not able to bring himself to say it out loud.

Cho made no reply, so Jane found himself ploughing on.

"You can't possibly hate me more than I hate myself right now. She's my world Cho, I never imagined I could do something so terrible to her…It's all my fault, I shouldn't have let her get dragged into this. It was Red John, you know he makes me crazy…and he threatened her and it was like suddenly I couldn't think straight."

He couldn't remember the last time he had talked this much, it was like all the words were crowding around, pushing and shoving each other to escape from his lips. He knew he probably wasn't making a whole lot of sense as he garbled on and on but somehow, he had to make Cho understand. If he couldn't do that, then how on earth was he going to explain himself to the only person in this whole mess who truly mattered?

Assuming of course, that she survived. A wave of dread passed through him and he tried desperately to shake it off. He mustn't think like that. She was going to be OK. She had to be.

Without warning, Cho cut across his stream of explanations.

"How does it feel?" he asked, and Jane was forced to bring his monologue to an abrupt halt.

"What?" he asked.

"Now that Red John's dead," Cho explained. "Is it everything you were hoping for?"

The question took Jane off-guard. Apart from the few moments right after it had happened, he hadn't really had time to process the sudden demise of his nemesis.

But now as he thought about it, the full weight of this realization slammed into him with the force of a semi-trailer.

It was over. Red John was gone, never able to hurt anybody else ever again. It was what he had been working towards all these long years. Even though it hadn't gone down the way he'd planned, still, it was done.

So why didn't he feel jubilant? Why wasn't he dancing in the hallways, shouting out the news to anybody who cared to listen?

Instead, he felt empty. For what had it brought him? His wife and daughter were still dead, and seeing their killer getting what he deserved didn't make him miss them any less. The ache inside him was still there, the only change that it had increased a hundredfold, with the knowledge that he may very well have just sent his beloved Lisbon to the same fate.

He was repeating the same mistakes as all those years ago, Pride, ego and arrogance had gotten his family killed, and pride, ego and arrogance had been the driving force behind the knife that he had stabbed her with, because he'd been unable to accept the fact that she had beaten him to it.

He hadn't even paused to think why she would have done so; he'd just unleashed his rage on her like a madman. If only he had taken a moment to think rationally, he would've realized, as he was doing now, that she'd been trying to save him. Save him from becoming a killer, descending to the level of the one he had hunted so passionately. Save him from a prison sentence. Save him from spending the rest of his days alone with nothing but bitter memories for company.

Essentially, she'd been trying to save him from the greatest danger he could possibly encounter…himself.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Cho noticed.

"You put her through hell all these years because you knew she'd keep coming back for more, thinking she could fix it. You've brought her nothing but misery."

Jane knew all this already of course, but hearing it from Cho just made it a million times worse.

"You know what you are, Jane?" Cho went on. "You're like poison. All you've ever done is cause her pain. I hope you can live with that."

Jane had no answer for that, and was spared from finding one by the reappearance of Van Pelt and Rigsby, holding hands once again. Van Pelt was wiping tears out of her red-rimmed eyes with the other hand while Rigsby muttered consoling words to her under his breath.

From somewhere behind them now, they heard the unmistakeable sound of somebody clearing their throat. They all spun around to come face to face with the doctor Jane had spoken to earlier. He looked exhausted, his skin pallid, presumably due to the hours he spent indoors every day, under the artificial lights of the operating theatre.

"You're all here for Teresa Lisbon?" he asked, and they nodded in unison.

Jane searched the doctor's face for any clue to what they were about to hear. Was it good news or bad news? Had she been given a second chance or had he succeeded in erasing the single most wonderful person he'd ever known from this earth?

"She's out of surgery," the doctor said, in the cool, professional tone Jane thought they must all be taught at medical school. "She lost a lot of blood, but luckily, the knife didn't nick any major organs or arteries. It took a while to stop the bleeding, but we got there in the end."

Jane heard Rigsby sigh with relief, but he wasn't yet convinced. Before he allowed himself to celebrate, he had to be sure.

"Is she going to be all right?" he asked.

The doctor paused, and the tension returned.

"She's dehydrated, malnourished, covered in small cuts and abrasions in addition to the stab wound. If she hadn't been brought to us when she had, it might have been too late." He heaved a deep sigh. "But as long as she rests and doesn't overexert herself for a while, I expect her to make a full recovery."

Relief washed over Jane with such strength that he had to sit down. She was alive! Even with the odds stacked so dramatically against her, she'd done it again, pulled off the impossible and come out the other side. If he hadn't known already how extraordinary she was, this would have confirmed it.

Van Pelt flung her arms joyfully around Rigsby's neck, both of them laughing in relief as Cho, grinning as Jane had never seen him grin before, wrung the doctor's hand and thanked him over and over.

Jane chuckled as Van Pelt released Rigsby only to hug Cho, and then the doctor who looked very taken aback, but pleased too. Jane supposed being accosted by beautiful, slightly over-emotional women must be one of the better perks of his job.

Once Van Pelt had let go of him, the doctor, a little flushed, turned to Jane.

"Would you like to see her?"

So suddenly were the smiles wiped from the rest of the team's faces, it was like somebody had flipped a switch. Mercifully, the doctor didn't seem to notice.

"Is that allowed?" Jane asked carefully.

"For you, yes," the doctor answered, smiling at him.

"What do you mean?" asked Jane, bewildered. Why was he being singled out like this? Was she awake perhaps, and asking for him? Oh no. He hadn't even had time to plan what he was going to say to her yet.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, as if trying to work out whether or not Jane was joking. "Only immediate family are allowed into recovery," he said. "You're her husband aren't you?"

For the third time today, Jane's attention was brought to the ring on his left hand. He could feel the other's gaze on it too, like a spotlight suddenly illuminated it.

His ring. A symbol of a promise made, now fulfilled. And in his pocket, her necklace. A symbol of what he had so very nearly sacrificed in pursuit of that promise.

"Aren't you?" the doctor repeated, pointedly, apparently a little confused by his hesitation.

What should he say? Should he do the right thing and tell the truth, or should he add another lie to his ever-growing list? This could be his only chance to see her, to explain. He couldn't pass that up.

"Yes," he said defiantly, ignoring the glares of the others. "Yes, I'm her husband."

The doctor nodded, accepting this without question as if he dealt with bereaved people unsure of their marital status every day of the week.

"Would you like to see her?" he asked again.

"Yes," said Jane again. "Thanks."

The doctor smiled a little. "She might take a while to come around after the operation, but I thought you'd like to be there when she wakes up."

"I would," said Jane. "Very much."

The doctor nodded again. "I'll just go ask the sister what room she's in and then I'll take you to her."

He walked over to the desk and began to talk to the nurse behind it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rigsby demanded, as soon as the doctor was gone. "If you think we're letting you within a mile of her after what you did, you must be even more insane than I've always thought."

Van Pelt nodded her head in agreement, folding her arms over her chest, and Cho fixed Jane with that death glare again.

"Please," he said, his gaze jumping from one stony face to the next. "You have to let me do this."

"And why should we be doing you any favours?" asked Van Pelt, in a frosty kind of voice that Jane had never heard before.

"Look," he said. "If it helps, don't think of it as doing me a favour, think of it as doing her one."

Rigsby scoffed.

"No seriously, when she wakes up the first thing she's going to want to know is what she's doing in a hospital. She's going to have questions, lots of them, and I'm going to have to be there to give the answers."

"I can fill her in," said Cho shortly. "Do yourself a favour and get out of here before I lose my temper and punch you a second time."

Jane shook his head. "I'm the one that caused all this. She deserves to hear it from me."

Five minutes later, he was following the doctor through the hospital corridors, having left the others glaring after them in the chairs by the reception desk.

"Ah, here we are," said the doctor, stopping at a door halfway down the hall. "She's got a room to herself."

Jane nodded, mentally preparing himself for the unpleasant talk that lay ahead.

"You don't need to be nervous," said the doctor, misinterpreting his silence. "She's a tough woman, your wife. She'll be up and about before you know it."

Jane forced a smile, thanked him and, taking a deep breath, stepped inside.

The curtains over the window were closed and a small lamp on the table at her bedside lighted the room. It looked like your typical hospital room, stark, bland, and characterless. White walls, white curtains, white bedsheets, white furniture, white pillows, over which cascaded a fan of dark hair.

He carefully got closer, as if she might suddenly sit up and start berating him for being in there. The bruises on her face and arms showed up even clearer now under the strong light. Whether she'd put it there on purpose or it had gone there itself, her right hand was resting over the spot on her stomach where the wound must be. She was going to have a scar now, and even if he never actually saw it, he'd know it was there, a constant reminder of this terrible day.

She was breathing the slow, rhythmic breaths of deep sleep, and every so often there was a rustling sound as she shifted her body a little to the left or right.

To Jane's amazement, she almost looked peaceful, despite the disfiguring marks all over her body. Only once before had he ever seen her sleeping.

He'd poked his head into her office one evening to say goodnight, to find her curled on her couch, fast asleep. They'd been working a hard case, involving children in foster care, and true to form, she'd pushed herself and pushed herself until she'd quite literally, dropped.

He remembered smiling at her as she dreamed, seeing her shiver in the cold air that came through a crack in her window. As quietly as he could, he had shut the window, taken off his jacket and tucked it around her.

He'd never thought she was more beautiful than at that moment, all the weight and worry off her shoulders, even just for a little while.

When he arrived back the next morning, it was to find his jacket neatly folded on his couch with a note pinned to it, bearing only a single word.

Thanks.

She murmured something in her sleep and he slipped into the chair beside her bed. He drew the necklace from his pocket again and put into her left hand that rested on top of the covers. Her fingers closed around it.

Overtaken by a sudden impulse, he stood up again and gently kissed her forehead. It didn't seem like enough, so he placed a kiss on each of her eyelids as well.

He didn't know what he hoped to achieve by this, this was not a fairytale after all, but somehow it made him feel a little less inadequate. Since he had already begun, it stood to reason that he should finish the job now, and so he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

In spite of himself, he looked over her features to see if she responded but was unsurprised when she didn't. She needed to regather her strength, and anyway, Teresa Lisbon had always done things by her own schedule. She'd wake when she was ready and not one moment sooner.

And when she did, he'd be here.

Jane wasn't sure what had woken him the next morning. It may have been the strange position he'd got himself into as he slept that would make a professional contortionist proud. It may have been the annoying way the sun was beating down on his face through the curtain. It may have been the woman in the next room, shrieking for the nurse at a decibel that must surely be illegal for this time in the morning.

But it seemed he was not the only one who had received a rude awakening.

He could hear Lisbon mumbling to herself and he painfully managed to untangle his limbs and stand beside the bed.

She'd slept fitfully last night, crying out and whimpering as whatever nightmarish monsters in her mind assailed her dreams. Twice, he'd been on the point of waking her up, just so he wouldn't have to hear her wails anymore, it hurt too much to know that he'd been the cause of them. Both times however, she had gone quiet again after a few seconds and settled back down again.

She was stirring now, tossing and turning and after a few seconds opened her eyes, gazing blearily upwards. Jane felt a smile cross as his face as his favourite pair of eyes in the world finally opened once again.

She sighed, and blinked a few times.

"Welcome back," he said quietly, as she yawned. "You gave us all a scare."

She moaned as the bright sunlight hit her eyes, so he quickly moved into its path to block it out.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I'm in a white room, with Patrick Jane standing over me, smiling," she said, her voice coarse and scratchy. "I must be in hell."

I'll be the first to admit this chapter was not my best work, but it's been so long since I updated, I thought I should get something up.

This chapter was kind of a filler I know, but in the next one, Jane will finally have to face Lisbon, and a few sparks will fly.