. Nvm.

A/N: I'm pretty happy with this one! Wrote it on my ridiculously long complex journey today xD. Hope you guys like it too. I've noticed I'm not getting many reviews for all the chapters I'm posting atm, but since I have left you hanging quite a while, I understand that. Besides, I'm on a roll, I'm writing it for myself really at the moment. But anyway, Jisbon fans out there, you're going to like this one (I hope).

He was discharged on Sunday. Stepping out into the open air, he took a deep breath, which hurt his chest just a little. Lisbon hadn't visited again, and though he hadn't really expected her too, it still disappointed him. Her lawyer had come to see him. A pleasant young woman, obviously struggling with some past trauma, but smart and capable. She'd told him that the expert psychologist's testimony had gone well, but that anything that really influenced the jury would probably come from him or Lisbon herself. He'd agreed to testify the next day, and they ran through Lisbon's story. He wondered whether to tell her the truth, and held back. He still hadn't made up his mind. How could she even ask this of him? Why the hell had she done it anyway? He felt the flame of a familiar anger flare in his chest. And the guilt. Anger and guilt – a heady combination that had fueled him for years now. And with that thought, he remembered where he was heading.

Once on the bus (he was still forbidden to drive by his doctors), he contemplated his testimony again – he could think of little else. He pictured the way Lisbon would look at him if he told the truth. She would never forgive him. But then he thought of how he'd feel if he allowed her to take the fall for this. He'd never forgive himself. And damnit, she'd done so much for him already, Rigsby had been right about that for sure. She'd carried him for years, protected him to the CBI higher ups, gone along with some of his crazy schemes, forgiven him when he'd carried them out without her knowledge. He still remembered the rush of pride and warmth he'd felt when she'd told Hightower she trusted him. Trusted him. Trust was a big thing for Teresa Lisbon, that he knew for sure. And yes, he'd insisted for years that she could, but there was a big different between that and her saying it. And his promise to her – that he would always save her. How could he keep that promise if he allowed her to keep up this ridiculous facade? It was probably the first time in his life, or certainly in a long while, that he'd been stuck for the right thing to do, and Jane was discovering he really didn't like the feeling.

Only one thing was for sure – he couldn't let her go to prison. He couldn't fail another one of the women he loved.

Wait, what? Where had that come from? The thought had rolled easily through his mind, like it was just a fact of life, one he'd been well aware of. But he didn't love Lisbon, well, not like he'd loved his wife and daughter, who he'd gone through years of turmoil and heartbreak and hell bent revenge seeking for. After all, is it even possible to love so fiercely twice? Didn't that in some way ruin the sanctity of the love – not the marriage, he had no opinion or real care for the sancitity of marriage, but of love? That all consuming love he had felt for his wife from the first moment he saw her in the carnival when they were just children, and she'd smiled at him, tucking a wisp of blonde hair shyly behind her ear – wasn't that in some way sacred? And he hadn't felt that when he saw Lisbon anyway, he'd seen her as a means to an end, someone he had to have at least slightly on his side in order to achieve his aim. He'd charmed her and teased her because he knew she'd like it even though she pretended not to, and solved all her cases because that would give her a reason to keep him around. Liking her was never a necessity, but it helped that he did. From the start he'd liked her, her tough attitude that he knew hid someone softer and more vulnerable that at some point in his knowing her he'd become determined to unmask. And why had he done that? Why did it matter to get to know her better – because it had mattered, it had become important. To better control her and manipulate her to his ends? The thought was logical, but didn't ring true. In fact, if he was honest, and he tried to be with himself if no one else, manipulating Lisbon hadn't been in his mind at all. He was just curious about her. He loved the moments when she would open up and show him a bit of the person beneath her mask. He loved her sense of humour too, her dry, biting sarcasm. He loved shocking her, even loved that cute look she got on her face when she was really pissed at him. He loved all those things about her, and a million more, but that was different from loving her. He loved things about... Grace too. No, he didn't. He liked things about Grace. It was different. And his brain had been running through thoughts at a mile a minute, confused in a way he rarely was. That was what sealed it really. He'd only felt confused in this way once before.

Another man on the bus watched from across the aisle as the blond man's blue eyes opened wider in an experession of shock.

"Shit," the other passenger muttered to himself in amazement.

The man shook his head. You got all sorts of nutters on public transport.

Jane got off the bus and walked to the cemetery where his wife and daughter were buried. It had been too long since he visited the grave, but he felt a little more peaceful there now, knowing their murderer was dead at last. He laid down the flowers he'd bought, and just stared at the headstone. Something felt final about the occasion – and he had no doubt it was something to do with his realisation on the bus. From his left hand he twisted off a well worn wedding band. His hand shook as he rested it beside the headstone.

"I'll always love you," he said, supposedly addressing the headstone, but since he knew they couldn't hear him, more talking to himself. "But I did what I promised. I got revenge for you. And now it's time for me to move on... while I still have a life."

And even though he knew there was no afterlife, he could picture his wife watching him and saying "About time."

…

He was in court promptly on Monday morning – and so was Lisbon, there before even Rose, before they could go into the courtroom. He was early because he was nervous – she was early because she knew he would be. It didn't take much to find him, looking out a window on one of the top floors of the building. Perhaps so many years had given her some kind of insight into where Jane would go to hide.

"We need to talk," she said.

He turned around, surprised she'd found him. "I don't think that's allowed," he replied – not that he cared about the rules particularly, but he still hadn't made up his mind and didn't want to have this conversation.

"It's not," Lisbon said bluntly, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the nearest open door, a large storage cupboard. "Jane, I need to know what you're gonna say up there."

"Trust me, Teresa, I'd love to know that too."

"You've gotta back me on this one, Jane, please," she said, hating her pleading tone but perfectly willing to beg if that was what it took.

"No, Lisbon, I've got to do what's best for you. Even if that means doing something you'd see as a betrayal, don't you understand?"

"This is best for me."

"You're really sure you won't be found guilty?"

"Yes," she replied, even though it wasn't strictly true.

"What if you're wrong? Then you'll have thrown away your whole life for me."

"Yeah well that's the risk I took, it was my choice."

"You can't possibly be telling me you'd have done this if you knew what would happen."

Lisbon wondered if she would have – then realised it wasn't really a question at all, even with everything that was happening, she'd make the same decision in a heartbeat. But that gave away too much of what she felt, of what she didn't want Jane to know, and yet she couldn't quite deny it.

"I don't know what I'd have done, Jane, hindsight's a wonderful thing. But I did it, and now I am begging you to trust me."

"This isn't about trust!" he yelled, exasperated, longing for a way to make her see. He put his hand against the wall on either side of her head, pinning her to it. Their faces were just centimetres apart, and he could feel the heat from her body radiating outward. He dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "This is about your life. This is about the life you deserve. You want me to help you take the blame for what I did. You think it's the right thing now, sure, but what about months from now? Years? You're going to regret it and then you'll wish I hadn't let you."

As he spoke, Lisbon could feel his breath on her face – she longed to close the tiny gap between them, press her lips against his and show him just how and why she didn't and wouldn't regret what she'd done. She couldn't believe he didn't get it by now, didn't understand just how far she'd go for him – to prison, if necessary.

"How could you say that?" she breathed.

Jane couldn't make sense of the answer, but then, his usually superb powers of reasoning were slightly thrown by being so close to her – something he hadn't thought of when he'd trapped her against the wall. In that moment, he supposed, she was being everything he loved about her, strong but also vulnerable, unwaveringly loyal – and undeniably beautiful. Her hair was up, and he wanted desperately to pull the tie out so it would fall loose around her shoulders. Her lips were slightly parted and horribly tempting, her eyes a little moist, shining with anger, hurt, and emotions even he couldn't begin to identify. Jane wasn't ashamed to admit to himself that he had stopped even trying to work out what she meant, and his thoughts had taken a completely different course. He was just a man, after all.

Lisbon bit her lip, wondering why he'd been silent for so long, wondering if he was ever going to move away from her and mostly hoping he didn't. She didn't think it was possible for there to be any less space between them without them touching, but somehow he managed, taking a small step forward. She pressed herself backward into the wall. Her brain screamed in confusion. She stopped breathing.

Then suddenly he was gone. She heard the door close behind him before she could work out what had just happened.

…

Sitting in the witness room, Jane berated himself. Yeah, just accost her, Patrick, that's a good idea, you idiot. That's going to make you both feel better. Just because you've had an awakening is no excuse to act like a hormonal teenager. And what good does it do her that you love her anyway? None at all, that's what. You've gotten her on trial for murder, that pretty much shows how good you are for her, doesn't it? Idiot.

He continued in that vain pretty consistently until the bailiff came to take him into the court, and he realised he still didn't know what to say. Stepping into the witness box, he swore an oath in front of the god he didn't believe in to tell the truth. He could have affirmed, but it wasn't exactly at the forefront of his mind. She believed in God, but it didn't seem to trouble her to ask him to lie under an oath to Him. He looked up to meet her eye, and was caught immediately by the intensity of her stare – her eyes begging him, filled with the same emotions they had been earlier.

"Patrick," she mouthed with the lips he'd so nearly kissed.

"Mr Jane," said Rose Oliver. "Can you please run us through the events leading up to, and the death of, Josh Sylvester, better known as Red John?"

Jane nodded, his mouth dry, keeping eye contact with Lisbon even though he knew he should break it. Did he love her enough to lie because she asked him to? Or enough to tell the truth for her own good?

Gotta love a cliffhanger.