14. MORE THAN I DESERVE

Seventeen doctor's visits, five ultrasounds, ninety-eight foot massages, one angrily thrown stapler and broken office window later, just as October and the relief of slightly cooler temperatures took hold of Sacramento, Riley Elizabeth and Emily Rose Jane arrived.

It had been a real learning experience. When Lisbon said something sounded good to eat, it meant that he was supposed to retrieve it. When she was upset or angry, the last thing she wanted was for him to be calm and reasonable. Just because she wanted to take up the entire bed didn't mean she wanted him to leave it, and telling him to shut the hell up was never, ever a suggestion.

Sometimes he wondered if he would survive this pregnancy.

But then she would be so grateful when he did anything for her, or she would burst into laughter after ranting about something for twenty minutes when she realized he was ranting along with her, or she would lean over in the car and kiss him on the cheek when he had managed to keep quiet just for the five minutes she needed him to, and he understood how very good his life was.

Their lives had merged more smoothly than he would have dreamed. They shared work and friends, something that came easy enough after years of practice. He now had three brothers and three sisters (Tommy had finally taken the plunge with Caroline, and they had eloped.), a niece and nephew, an aunt, a son and baby girls on the way. He was so used to being alone and living so unconventionally that this newfound family and proximity to other human beings should have been more difficult to get used to. But he had found it very easy to acclimate—especially when it came to living with Teresa and Will.

He had wondered—and maybe worried over a little—how Teresa's brothers would react to him, but Andrew was like Lisbon and had apparently decided to take him as he was found. Surprisingly, John was rather like Jane, and while distance would not allow them to become close—something for which Teresa was secretly grateful—when they were together, there was an instant synchronization of humor and mischief. Tommy was much more relaxed, and Jane felt like the youngest brother could take him or leave him. Liz visited sporadically and never for long, always welcomed upon arrival and always missed upon departure, spoiling Will almost beyond repair. He couldn't imagine what it would be like when she got her hands on the baby girls.

He even had a pseudo father-in-law in Minelli, whom they saw from time to time over dinner. Her former boss always watched Teresa and looked Jane up and down shrewdly as if he were measuring something by sight. Minelli was happy for Teresa's happiness, but when they said good night there was always a hint of warning in his eye and handshake. Jane had known he was protective of her professionally and personally, but until they were married, he had no idea of the extent of the latter.

It wasn't so much a blending, he supposed, as a belonging. He belonged in this place and with these people. He hadn't belonged anywhere in a long time, if ever, and he felt it nowhere so much as at home, where there was substantial evidence that he was a fixture there. Teresa had insisted they purchase a couch that was almost an exact replica of his resting place at work. His clothes took up the previously unoccupied one third of her closet. Finding him drawer space had been more difficult—she did like her T-shirts and lingerie. But a small bachelor's chest had taken care of that. The team had gone in together on their wedding gift—a set of beautiful bone china cups and saucers that were housed in a kitchen cabinet just above where his tea caddy sat on the counter. A picture of Charlotte joined one of Will on the mantel, and in the large grouping of family photos that lined the hallway and included Teresa's parents and brothers, she had made room for a picture of Angela holding Charlotte on her lap at the piano.

Yes. Life was very good.

The plan had been for Lisbon to work to the seven-and-a-half month mark then start her maternity leave. Two weeks later, she would deliver by C-section, and Jane's family leave would begin. But three days before the planned delivery, Jane had been awakened in the night with a sharp pain to his chest. He slept shirtless, so when Teresa had taken hold of him, all she got was skin . . . and nipple.

"Wake up. We need to go now."

She called the doctor, and they were in the car in six minutes. It was the first time she didn't complain about his driving, making phone calls to the team and Andrew along the way. She had been rushed upstairs and directly into a maternity ward operating room.

Riley was extricated first, but just before Emily was delivered, the placenta broke loose, causing immediate severe blood loss to Teresa. The babies were whisked away to neo-natal ICU and Jane was shoved unceremoniously out of the room. He stood just outside the doors, unable to connect mentally with what was happening. Grace had stood next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist and guided him into a pattern of pacing, knowing it would be futile to try and get him to sit down. Within seconds, he was pacing on his own, his mind refusing to think on anything but how glad he would be to see her and how soon he would be able to hold his daughters. Forty-seven minutes later, the doctor came through the double doors, beaming at him and congratulating him on his good fortune. Teresa would be in recovery for an hour, and he could see her when they moved her to her room. Jane wondered how long it would take for him to recover.

Then a nurse from the ICU approached and asked him if he would like to see his girls, and everything fell back into place. He held them gingerly—they were so very small—and Grace took pictures of them through the window. When he was finally able to see Teresa, he held her the same way—she looked so very small, too.

Teresa was released ten days later—some minor complications having slowed her recovery—and the twins two weeks after that. Now, two months after their arrival, the Christmas season was in full swing, and it was almost time for them to go back to work. Jane groaned every time he thought about it. Of course, they had never really been work-free. At first, Teresa called Cho throughout the day until he told her he would call her every day, first thing in the morning and then in the early evening to keep her abreast of things. Jane often consulted by phone and, a few times, met the team at crime scenes and took part in interviews, careful not to be away from home for too long.

He knew that while Teresa had been glad to have the time off as a family, she was looking forward to being back at work. They were both glad for the on-sight daycare—he had already been warned as to his limit of daytime visits. Will was a favorite there, and the ladies were eager to see the Jane girls.

The babies were bottle-fed (Teresa's response to the pediatrician's inquiry about breast feeding had been met with an arched eyebrow and an expression she generally reserved only for Jane.), so they could take turns with night-time feedings, though they usually got up together anyway. One night after a particularly long day with three inexplicably fussy children, Teresa suddenly awakened to find herself in bed alone. A dim light shone in the hallway, emanating from the living room. She got out of bed and wrapped her robe around her and softly padded down the hall.

The Christmas tree lights were on, and there were two empty baby bottles sitting on the coffee table. Jane sat nestled deep into the center of the leather couch holding Emily against his chest, her face snuggled into his neck. Riley lay tucked up against him on one side wrapped tightly in her blanket, and a disheveled Will lay curled into a ball on his other. Patrick's eyes were closed, and he was sleepily crooning "White Christmas" in a very bad imitation of Bing Crosby. Some of the words were mixed up, and where he didn't know them at all, he just hummed. She remembered how excited he had been to set up the tree, waiting for her instructions at every step. He had hunted on the internet for days for what he thought would be the perfect eggnog recipe. Grace had picked him up for work one day, and Teresa had meant to ask him about the conspiratorial air between the two of them only to be sidetracked by a hungry Riley. Later, when she found the hidden shopping bags, she realized he had asked Grace to come shopping with him. Hearing this garbled rendition of a familiar carol, she wondered—not for the first time—if he, personally, had ever actually celebrated Christmas.

She walked to the back of the couch where it stood away from the wall and, standing behind him, ran her fingers up through the back of his hair, palming his head in her hand. He leaned back into her, eyes still closed, still humming, and she bent and kissed him softly and lingeringly on the corner of his lips. His hum drew out into a long sigh of appreciation.

"Looks like you've had your hands full."

"Yes," he breathed out on another sigh of contentment.

"Is this your first Christmas?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her upside-down. Her question was straightforward and held no pity or accusation, so he didn't feel the need to hedge. He was rather past that now anyway.

"First one that counts."

"Mm," was all she said as she rounded the couch to Will's side. Lifting his little body just a bit, she sat leaning into Patrick's arm and slid the boy sideways into her lap, lifting him against her. He snuggled into her chest, twining his fingers into her long hair, and began to suck his thumb. She rubbed his back, and he settled into place.

"I think he likes it there. Can't blame him. It's one of my favorite places."

"Are there any quintessential Christmas experiences you'd like to try?" she asked, returning to their previous conversation.

"Is it too late to get stockings with our names on them?"

She glanced toward the pile of Christmas catalogs they'd gotten that week.

"I'd say that's very do-able."

"Mm," he mimicked her earlier response, but he had turned to her now, his eyes locked on hers. She recognized that look.

"Aren't you tired?"

"What?"

"Don't act innocent with me, Patrick Jane. I know what you're thinking."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. I can always tell what you're thinking."

"So tell me, O psychic one."

"Don't call me that. I know how you feel about that stuff. And it's the same thing you always think when you see me hold Will like this. Honestly, don't you think it's a bit pervy and pathetic to be envious of a baby?"

"I'm not envious. He likes the way you feel and smell, and he loves your hair, and being close to you comforts him. I feel that way, too, but that doesn't make me envious. Seeing the way you are together is part of what makes you beautiful, and I can't help but appreciate it. Anyway, I was already thinking about that before you came in."

"Oh, really?" she laughed, not quite believing him.

"Yes, really. Why do you think I couldn't remember the words to the song? My thoughts were full of you."

"You couldn't remember the words because you don't know the words."

"Be that as it may, I was thinking about it, but you were exhausted and out like a light. I had talked myself into just going back to bed and letting you sleep when you came in and kissed me."

"And you threw all thoughts of restraint to the wind?"

"No. That happened when you said 'do-able'. I find you very much so."

Something in her gaze shifted, and he grinned and closed his eyes as he laid his head back on the couch. Turn about was more than fair play.

"I know that look, too, my love."

She decided not to be coy.

"You put Em to bed then come back for Will, and I'll tuck Riley in and meet you back here."

He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes wide.

"You want to . . . ?"

"Move. Now. The offer's only available for a limited time."

He moved without any more hesitation. By the time he was back, she had lit a fire and was lying on the couch, minus her robe and flannel pants. He stood at the back of the couch looking down at her.

"You don't mess around, do you?"

"Not nearly as much as I'd like to."

"You just saw the doctor today. You sure it's all right to—?"

"Are you just gonna stand there and talk, or are you gonna 'do'?"

"Sex makes you pushy."

"If that's the way you want it. Now, do I need to start without you?"

He rounded the couch and sat next to her, tapping her leg so she would move over to make room for him. He sat for a while looking down at her and stroking slowly up and down her legs before wrapping his hands around the outside of her thighs and inching his fingers up to slide them under the ribbon-wide elastic on the sides of her panties. He stilled his movements, holding his hands in place there as he leaned over her.

"You know, you look really good."

"Thanks." She stroked his chest and arms, not wanting to be distracted by conversation. He slid his hands up her sides and under her shoulders as he came to rest over her, his forearms bearing most of his weight, his knees on the outside of her thighs. She raised her head to pepper kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

"I mean you've gotten back into shape really fast."

"Tell me about it. I've been kegeling like crazy," she gasped out between kisses.

"That's really not so hot as you might think."

"Talk to me again in fifteen minutes."

"Just fifteen? I think I'm insulted."

"Pre-game," she answered just before she tongued him and swept her hands around his waist and down over his backside.

He groaned and ground into her then reached down to twist his fingers in the thin elastic bands again and started to move down her body as he pulled them with him. She didn't let him get far, using her feet to finish pushing them off as she slid her fingers under the elastic band of his boxers and pulled. Together, they made short work of them. He snuggled himself against her, and she groaned and reached between them.

"Your shirt."

"What?" she sounded exasperated now, unable to understand him.

"Let me take off your shirt." He pulled the tank top off over her head, her lips coming back to his and hand descending again as the garment peeled away from her. Positioning him, she raised her hips to meet his, surrounding him, already beginning to pulse. He moved against her hard, quickly increasing his pace. He felt her squeeze around him in a rhythm that matched his, speeding up as he did until the squeezing took and held. His breathing stopped, unable to push past the wave of desire that engulfed him, and he groaned deeply into her mouth as she growled into and ground her lips against his, both of them going over at the same time.

He lay on top of her, unable to support himself even partially, trying to catch his breath. Of course, he didn't let that keep him from talking.

"This really is a great couch."

"Yeah, that French provincial thing Liz bought would never hold up."

"Are you back on the pill? I didn't ask before—didn't want to kill the mood."

"Yes, I am, and it wouldn't have mattered."

They lay together silently for a moment, his hips and legs still cradled in hers as he pulled his weight a little to the side so as not to lie too heavily on her. She raised one hand and swept her bangs back and over the top of her head.

"I've been wanting to do that for weeks."

"Since when? It's only been a little over two months."

"Since the hospital."

"You mean when you almost died?"

"It was the only thing I could think of for my bucket list. It didn't help when I woke up the night before I came home and you were in bed with me, feeling me up in your sleep."

"What made you think I was sleeping?"

"Your eyes were closed."

"I know where everything is," he responded matter-of-factly with a one-shoulder shrug. One hand was slowly massaging her breast now, and she softly arched against his palm in an answering rhythm. He bent his head to kiss her neck, his lips moving against her.

"Mm. Yes, you do." She closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying the feel of his hands and mouth on her.

He turned his head and kissed across her neck and down to the swell of her breast above his fingertips then up to her lips as he moved himself back to center over her. Her mouth opened to him, and his tongue swirled around the inside of her lips and along the edge of her top teeth before stroking deep along her tongue. She whimpered as her hands tightened on his upper arms.

The pace of their bodies pushing, arching and kissing all came together like some kind of deep instinctive rhythm as their hips began to rock against each other. He felt himself harden again and slipped back into her, her moans and pleading bringing him back to an unrestrainable urging. He drew out then pushed in again, driving a breathy grunt from her body. She clenched around him again, and he drove into her over and over, nearly withdrawing each time, sliding his full length back and forth within her. Her body tried to arch hard against him, but his driving weight pinned her in place as her muscles spasmed around him and he felt the warmth roll down her arms and legs. The sensations caused him to drive harder and deeper, breathing out her name. A low rumble started in his chest and erupted into a loud growl as his pace quickened. He felt her tightening around him again, and he pushed on, slamming into her once more with a deep, wordless cry as she went limp under him again with another groan, high-pitched and drawn out, that came from somewhere deep within her.

He stilled for only an instant then began to move in her again, slow and gentle as she whimpered beneath him. Then he withdrew, moving his legs to the outside of hers, arms encircling her waist between her back and the couch cushion as he nuzzled her neck, embracing her with his entire body.

"That . . . was great." He kissed her shoulder in thanks for the compliment.

"I'll bet you'll never make fun of me for reading 'Cosmo' in the check-out again."

She was silent for a moment, and then he began to feel her body shaking beneath him. He smiled and kissed her shoulder again, chuckling at her silent laughter.

"You are so twisted." He could tell by the sound of her voice she had tears in her eyes.

"You read that article, too?" He pulled back and looked down at her in mock seriousness.

She slapped his arm but didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she slid it upwards and into the curls at the back of his neck, smiling into his eyes.

"I really do love you, Patrick."

"I really do love you, too, sweetheart."

She looked away, and her eyes followed the tracings of her fingertips on his upper arm as her brow furrowed.

"I know it's been rough, and I haven't been the easiest to get along with, but it hasn't been too bad, has it? I mean, we're doing all right. Right?"

"Except for the fact that I have no feeling in my legs, I think we're doing exceptionally well."

She smiled at him, but he could still see the uncertainty in her eyes. She wasn't unsure about him anymore. This was about her. His gaze turned serious.

"Teresa, there have been some rough times, but for the most part—for the biggest, vastest most part—my life with you has been wonderful. Is wonderful. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Her smile reached her eyes.

"You're just saying that because you're lying on me naked."

"That has a lot to do with it, yes."

She smacked his face, but it was very half-hearted.

"Do you think your legs will work now?"

"Why? Do we want to get up?"

"Yes, we do. And we want to sleep in our bed until the babies are up again. Or until you are, whichever comes first."

"Bed, it is."

He lifted himself off of her, then took her hands and pulled her up, embracing her before they collected their clothes and headed down the hallway. She walked into their bedroom, and he followed after, pushing the door nearly closed behind him. Together, they collapsed on the bed in a tangled embrace, and he caressed her shoulder until he could tell by the even soft breaths against his neck that she had fallen asleep.

He lay in the dark, holding her, knowing their children were safely sleeping down the hall, and he was suddenly flooded with a sense of well-being and gratitude that brought tears to his eyes. He thought back to the song she had chosen for them on their wedding day.

And I am lost for words
You're more than I deserve
And when I cannot stand
You are where I land

When he tightened his embrace, she sighed into his neck, nestling her body possessively against his, and he closed his eyes and slept.

END