A/n this one-shot is a little dark with a conversation about Jane's stint in a mental hospital. If this is something that will upset you, then perhaps give this one a miss.

Thank you for your continued support.

/

Getting Better

He should have realised that something was wrong when she suggested that they sleep in his Airstream, but he was just so happy that he gets to spend the night with her there that the thought of something being wrong did not cross his mind. Now it is. Her silence this evening has been more than noticeable yet every time he asks her if she is okay, she claims she is and changes the subject. Jane has always tried to respect her personal boundaries like she has done with him but when they go to kiss goodnight and her lips linger longer than usual before they separate and her eyes are pressed shut, he realises that he can't skirt around whatever issue she is having any longer. "Teresa, what's wrong?" He gently asks, his hands finding hers so he can lovingly interlock their fingers.

"It is the case." Lisbon sadly admits with a sigh, her shoulders slumping – a sorry sight, one that he hopes he doesn't have to see often.

The case they have just closed had a gloomy ending when the victim's husband was institutionalised. It isn't the FBI's job to look after those people, it is their job to close cases with as little damage as possible. Watching the poor man being taken away did not feel like little damage and the team couldn't hide their desolation. "I understand." He replies with a grimace, "A tough one."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

"About me?" Usually, he would be flattered but he has a feeling that in this scenario he shouldn't be. In the dark of his trailer, he can vaguely make out the slow, nodding of her head but that just increases his confusion. "What do you mean?" She falters in her reply and even in the dim light he can sense her anxiety, so he runs his thumbs over her knuckles comfortingly, hoping to coax her thoughts out of her. "Talk to me, please."

For a few seconds she remains quiet, but he believes that he will reap the rewards of that silence and get the answers he seeks. "You spent time in a mental hospital." She eventually comes out with, and he is glad that he is sitting in bed because he suddenly feels lightheaded.

"Yes. For six months." He tries to keep his voice steady, hoping to keep his general anxiety around the topic suppressed. Ironically this is something he was told not to do by Dr Sophie Miller, but he finally has found happiness, he gets to spend his nights with the woman he loves, he doesn't want to do anything that could jeopardise that.

However, he also doesn't want to keep stuff from her. "D-did you take yourself there? Or did they…?"

"Take me?" She hums and senses his hands tense in hers making her fully aware of his answer before it comes out of his mouth. "They took me in." A heavy silence follows that speaks a thousand words to the mentalist who can tell that his partner wants to discuss this, perhaps to get it out of the way, but she is also nervous about potentially scaring him off. "Maybe, we should talk about this." He decides for her and removes himself from her grasp, so he can get out of bed to switch on a light. When he does so it simply illuminates her concerned expression and fleetingly he considers that maybe he should have kept the light off.

When he returns to the bed, he takes a seat on the edge as she shifts upwards and crosses her legs on top of his uncomfortable mattress. Neither of them utters a syllable for almost a minute with him trying to psych himself up for a difficult conversation whilst she just waits with bated breath. She knows that she needs to be patient with him in this moment and she is happy to be because it may be one of those rare occasions when he properly opens up to her. "I don't know where to start." Jane eventually confesses, his focus fluctuating to her then down to his hands and then back to her again, knowing that there is no easy way to say any of this. "It was after the funeral." He starts and Lisbon sends an encouraging yet slow nod his way. "There was a wake. A room full of people but the majority of them I had no relationship with. They were mainly friends of Angela's, and of Charlotte's too." The hotel function room they were using was brimming with mourners bearing black attire and solemn expressions.

Funeral and wakes are very rarely happy occasions, but they usually have moments, flickers of joy as people would reminisce on the happier times. There was none of that. The sheer gravity of the tragedy sucked out any ounce of joy from the people who attended, and he knows that whilst most were feeling nothing but sorry for the now childless widower, there were a few who silently blamed him for the awful event. Perhaps, quite rightly so. "Apart from the odd person from our carny days, there was no-one I vaguely cared about, and I realised how alone I was." The few weeks between the terrible events of that night and the funeral seemed to both go so quickly and slowly at the same time. He has little memory of that period and the six months which followed but maybe that's a good thing, who wants to remember the worst days of their life? "I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My shiny suit was perfectly pressed, and my hair slicked back but I didn't remember doing it. I must have got ready on autopilot after years of presenting myself in that way for work, time I was away from my family."

He is shaking his head in disgust at himself, his hatred so clear that she wants to stop him in his story, but she also knows that it is probably best for him to get this all out. He has kept it bottled up for too long and she is his girlfriend, his partner, the one who he should be able to be completely honest with. "I was alone and hated who I was, who I became. Guilt ridden because I knew it was all my fault."

His voice cracks with the final word and immediately she is leaning forward to affectionately take his hand in her own, giving it a supporting squeeze. "We don't have to talk about this." She murmurs, not wanting to bring him any kind of pain despite knowing it could be a cathartic experience for him.

"I snuck out of the back exit of the venue and ran. Ran and ran until I physically couldn't anymore." He continues, appreciating that she isn't going to force him but believing that he owes her some kind of explanation. "It was pouring down with rain so when I eventually came across a motel I was soaked through and shivering. The owner she felt sorry for me, probably recognised me from the news and fixed me up a room and some different clothes belonging to her husband." His eyebrows dip as he tries to regain some memory of that night but despite the fortress that is his mind, it is all foggy. "I don't remember what she or the room looked like, but I remember the smell of the clothes. Clean but musky, having been kept in the room of a smoker. It made me feel sick to my stomach." Subconsciously, his free hand moves to rest on his pyjama clad torso. "I vomited my guts up in the bathroom. The stench of bile just made me sick again." Lisbon frowns at this, fighting back the tears because right now she needs to be strong for him even though she feels like she could fall apart. "Then I started to dissociate from life. Sometimes that felt like a good thing and other times I hated the numbness so much that I would try to do anything to feel again."

She watches as he begins to hesitate, any free-flowing chat he had drying up almost instantly as he realises that he is getting to the end of his narrative. His chest starts to feel tight, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he can continue. "I-I don't know how long I was there for. Days and nights seemed to merge and… I was very rarely sober." Copious amount of booze and pills were consumed, he isn't quite sure how it really started but once it did, he couldn't stop. "Then the men in white coats came and took me away. I think the motel owner reported me as a risk, but I don't know for sure." He shrugs with a sigh, averting in gaze because he cannot face the disappointment that he expects to be in her eyes – when actually she is nothing but greatly concerned. "In the report it said they found me out of mind with enough painkillers in my system to knock out a horse and my hands were bruised and bloody from hitting a wall." Briefly his eyes flicker to study her expression but the anguish she is exhibiting forces him to look away once more. "I don't have any memory of that, but I trust that the report was correct."

Lisbon remembers when she found out about his stint in a psychiatric ward. It shocked her to her core and when she went home that night, she had to let it sink in with a bottle of beer. It was a lot to process, mainly because it was one of the first times that he was properly candid with her.

Why is Sophie Miller so important to you?

She was my doctor.

She's a psychiatrist.

Yes, she was my psychiatrist.

But you hate psychiatrists, so you always say.

She was a good psychiatrist.

She must have been if she managed to keep you in the room.

It was a locked room. Yeah, I went through a rough patch, I did a little time in a hospital, and Sophie helped me through that time.

It's not on your record.

No. Believe me. I... It's not easy to do. I... I know there's nothing shameful about having a breakdown, but I gotta confess, I am ashamed of it.

Thank you for being so honest with me.

Sorry I kept it from you.

That was eight or so years ago, yet she still remembers it vividly. Perhaps more than a lot of events in her life. "Six months later I was walking out of the mental hospital with a different perspective, a new goal. To take down the man who took everything from me." His continuation pulls her out of her thoughts, and she gives him a small smile, mainly so he knows that she is still listening. "The rest you know, you were there."

Now it is his turn to be patient, to give her the time to completely mull everything she has just learnt, and he is okay with that, albeit a little on edge. However, Teresa is struggling to put her thoughts into words. She loves him, she is proud of him, she wants to always be there for him, and she truly doesn't want him to be in that position again. She shuffles closer to him, not-so-gracefully moving the small distance to him sat on the edge of the bed so that she is sitting beside him, her arm linked with his and her head resting tenderly on his shoulder. She senses him relax under her touch. "And you think it helped? Being institutionalised."

"If it didn't then I wouldn't be here." He gravely reveals and she is tightening his grip on him, not wanting to think about a world which he isn't in. "And Red John could still be at large." Something else she doesn't want to consider. "Dr Miller was the one who begun the process of saving my life, but it was you who actually saved it… mainly by not allowing me to feel sorry for myself. When I walked into CBI to speak with you two days later, I knew the Red John case was in good hands."

"It was only two days later?" She questions, not quite believing him.

"Hm." He hums, remembering that he didn't quite know what else to do. "The first day I spent eating good food, mainly eggs and sussing out who I need to speak to about the investigation. Then I turned up at CBI the day after to cause you trouble."

"And you never stopped." He can hear the smile in her voice, and it brings one to his own face, amazing when their topic of conversation is so deep. "Thank you, for telling me. It can't be easy."

"No but…" His shoulders rise and fall again as he takes another deep breath. "I wanted to be honest with you because I love you." She doesn't reply to his love proclamation with words, having not uttered those words herself yet, but she does lift her head to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek and that is enough for him. In fact, it is more than enough. "I can't speak for the poor man today but being locked away and looked after did help me, so hopefully it will help him too." Jane is now trying to quash her original worry which she appreciates. "And he doesn't have to become hellbent on revenge when he comes out because we have already sorted that."

"We have." She agrees and the pair share a loving look before their lips collide, both deciding that they don't need to put their affection and care for one and other into words – sometimes, actions are enough.