He felt safe. He could feel her next to him – her body warm and soft. He loved waking up with his wife next to him. It made him realize how very lucky he was.
It didn't take very many seconds for reality to set in. Angela was dead, was gone. She couldn't be beside him. He felt a wave of grief rush over him, almost drowning him, and then the pain hit – the physical pain, not just the emotional. That was followed by fear – who was beside him? What had happened to him?
He tried to slow his breathing, to concentrate on calming down, to figure out what was happening. Slowly he began to remember. He'd been kidnapped and hurt. He'd been in the hospital but had checked himself out because he hated those places. But then – and here things got a little fuzzy – and then Teresa had found him.
She had found him – but where was he? And why was there a warm, soft body next to him. His wife was gone and he hadn't been with any other woman since her. He surely hadn't gone out and picked someone up, had he?
He knew he could simply open his eyes and look, but he found himself inexplicably nervous. And he also felt like crap. Everything was hurting and he didn't think he could deal with anything more than that.
But who was beside him?
"Mmm," a soft murmur sounded from the body beside him, a soft murmur that he recognized. The fear started to abate.
"Teresa!" he slurred, opening his eyes and turning his head. Yes, it was she – and she was curled up right beside him, one leg thrown over his and her arm around his waist. Her dark hair spilled out over her pillow and onto his shoulder. She looked like she was deeply asleep – asleep and content.
He blinked a couple of times to make sure his head injury hadn't caused him to hallucinate. He took a deep breath. No – she was definitely here. He could smell that unique scent that was hers. And he could feel her body against his.
He allowed himself a brief moment to simply enjoy the feeling of having someone next to him again, to feel that sense of warmth and safety and caring. Sadly, it wasn't very long before his need to know what was going on forced him to turn his mind away from the woman lying next to him and to try and remember.
He sighed and lifted his left arm – the one not trapped by Lisbon – and rubbed his eyes. What was going on? Why was she in his bed – or why was he in hers? He looked around but didn't recognize the room. Where was he?
He slowly tried to pull away from her – not because he didn't like having her so near, but he needed to figure out what was going on. And then there was the fact that his bladder felt like it was about to burst.
The moment he moved Lisbon's arm tightened, effectively pinning him to the bed. He knew that he could get away, if he wanted to, but he was afraid he'd rip some stitches and he'd wake her up. So instead he lay there and tried to remember what had happened to put them in this position – and tried to ignore his bladder.
It took him a few seconds to realize that he was practically naked. The only thing he wore were a pair of boxers, which was very strange as he never went to bed without pajamas. Surely he and Lisbon hadn't – God, his head ached. He couldn't think, couldn't remember. But maybe he didn't want to remember. If he and Lisbon had – he didn't know how they were going to continue to work together.
A big part of him wanted to sneak away and hide and never, ever talk about this. The other side of him, the rational side, told him to face up to whatever they had done, if they had done something or it would come back and haunt them at some future date. But no, they couldn't have done anything. He would remember that – and anyway, he was wearing boxers.
And then he realized that the biggest part of him just wanted some strong pain pills. His head was throbbing and felt like it was going to explode. His side with the broken ribs was burning – the other side was sore – and the rest of him felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder. He groaned, feeling very, very sorry for himself.
The movement caused Lisbon to move – which caused him to hurt even more. A second later she had turned away from him, with a murmur and a sigh. Instead of helping make him feel better, her absence left him feeling – bereft. He wanted her back.
"Lisbon," he croaked after a few more minutes lying there in pain. "Lisbon, can you hear me?"
"Go away Jane," she mumbled, clearly still half asleep. "We don't need you right now. Rigsby caught the clown."
He frowned but then he reached over and gently shook his bed companion. "Lisbon, wake up! You're dreaming."
"No," she muttered. "It was Chuckles."
He couldn't help but grin, wondering what in the world she was dreaming about, but that lasted only a second. He was in pain, he needed to go to the bathroom and he didn't know what the hell was going on. "Lisbon," he said, prodding her in the side.
"What do you want Jane," she murmured, still mostly asleep. There was a pause and then she exclaimed – "Jane!" She rolled over quickly, knocking into him as she did so.
"Ow!" he gasped as her elbow hit him in the ribcage.
"Oh my God! Jane, are you alright?"
He breathed deeply for a few seconds and then finally nodded. "I was until you elbowed me!" It wasn't really true – but he was hurting and it was his habit to lash out at such times.
She frowned at him. "I'm sorry. Uh – you look like crap!"
He glared at her. Of course he looked like crap. He was injured.
"You should be in hospital Jane. I don't know what you were thinking!"
"I was thinking that I hated hospitals and doctors. Lisbon, can you stop for a moment with the "I told you so's" and help me?"
The look of worry on her face increased. "What is it? Do you need me to take you back to the hospital?"
"No, I need you to take me to the bathroom!"
Her look of surprise made him shake his head and rephrase what he needed. "I need some help getting out of bed. I need to go Lisbon!"
"Oh," she exclaimed, her face clearing in understanding. "Of course."
The next few moments were taken up with her trying to get him to stand, and him groaning pathetically. He really hurt.
"I'm not going to say it Jane, but – this is ridiculous!"
"You just did say it," he pointed out as he limped towards the bathroom, Lisbon's arm the only thing keeping him from doing a face-plant.
"No, I said it was ridiculous. What I didn't say was "I told you so."
He sighed and looked at her. "But we both know that's what you meant."
"Oh shut up Jane and go to the bathroom, and then you're going back to bed."
He sighed but limped forward into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He had to stand there for a few seconds, recuperating from the trip. Suddenly the catheter he'd had in the hospital didn't seem so bad.
He finished his business as quickly as he could and, after washing his hands, made his way back to the door. Lisbon was waiting on the outside, her forehead crinkled with worry.
"Are you going to be okay?" she asked seriously as she gently put her arm around him.
"I'll be fine," he sighed, knowing that she was really worried about him. "I just need to lie down."
"Are you hungry?" she asked, after he was lying back on the bed. She carefully sat beside him and frowned again when she saw how pale he was.
"No, just tired." He opened his eyes and looked up at Lisbon's concerned face. "What time is it?"
"Uh," she grabbed her phone and turned it on. "It's 6:30."
"A.M?"
"Yes. Do you want to sleep some more?"
"Mmm hmm," he murmured, his eyes already closed although the pain was getting worse and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to sleep. He tried to take a deep breath, to relax, but instead he let out a short gasp. His ribs hurt too much for deep breaths.
"Jane! You need to go to the hospital."
"No – no," he gasped. "Just – could you – get me my – pain pills?"
"Damn it!" she said, getting up so quickly that he groaned from the movement. "I'm sorry Jane – what am I thinking? Here," she said, handing him two pills after she got him a glass of water.
He downed the painkillers and then groaned again as the pain stabbed through his side. Maybe the doctor and Teresa were both right and he wasn't ready to be out of the hospital.
He lay down after finishing the water, fighting nausea, dizziness and pain. For a moment he wondered if he was going to throw up and it took all his mental concentration to keep himself from losing what little was left in his stomach.
As he tried to lie quietly and not embarrass himself further by whimpering, he felt Lisbon take his hand and hold it tightly. He grasped it back desperately – needing something to keep him tethered, to keep him from letting the pain overwhelm him. He was so thankful that Lisbon was with him. It was the only thing that made things bearable.
It took a few minutes but he started to feel better. The pills the doctor had given him must be strong, he thought briefly as the relief washed over him. He finally took a breath, and then another – relieved that the pain was receding. He still felt some, but now it was more of a background ache, rather than all-consuming agony.
He opened his eyes, to find Teresa once again peering down at him, a look of intense worry on her face.
"I'm okay," he said. "The medication helped."
"Damn it Jane, what the hell were you thinking," she said sharply. "You're not well enough to be out of the hospital!"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, his hand squeezing hers lightly. "I just – I couldn't stay there anymore," he told her. "I just kept remembering -"
At that her expression changed – her brown clearing and her eyes looking at him in sympathy – still tinged with a bit of anger however. "What did you remember?"
"That – I was going to die," he said softly.
"Oh Jane!"
"And – I didn't want to," he said, almost sounding surprised. "For the first time – I didn't want to die Lisbon."
"Of course not," she told him gently. "You made it Jane – you managed to save yourself and you're going to be fine now."
"You were the one who saved me Teresa - you and Charlotte," he said, his voice fading as his eyes grew droopy.
"Charlotte?"
"Mmm," he said, almost asleep. "It was our cave," he said, so softly she could barely hear. "She was – there." A moment later he was asleep.
"Oh Jane," she said again, moving a lock of hair out of his eyes. She was so grateful that he had survived, but felt terrible that once more he had to go through pain and suffering. She wondered about his daughter – wondered if he had somehow seen her or if it was just the doll.
Teresa smiled softly and looked up. "Somehow," she said, "I think it was you Charlotte. You were looking after your father, weren't you?" She knew that Jane, once he recovered, would refuse to believe his daughter had been present. He didn't believe in life after death – but she did, and she'd simply believe for him.
She was tired, so she didn't want to think about his other words – about wanting to live. His words implied that up until now he hadn't wanted to live – something which disturbed her greatly, although it didn't surprise her. She was just grateful that he now did want life. But what a helluva way to find out! Poor Jane.
Teresa stood and stretched, feeling tired and sore from all the worry and then the discovery of the criminals who had kidnapped Jane. She looked down at the sleeping man and decided she might as well get some more sleep too. She debated for only a few seconds before she shrugged and moved around to the other side of the bed. Jane hadn't said anything about her sleeping beside him – so she was going to do it again. Afterward they'd head to her apartment and she'd give him the guest bedroom.
She turned on her side and looked at the still too pale man sleeping beside her. She had an irresistible urge to wrap her arms around him, which caused her to roll her eyes at herself. Still, after a few minutes debate she decided it wouldn't hurt. Hell, the man needed some comfort. Carefully, so as not to hurt him, she slid over to him and put her arm around him. She let out a deep breath of air and relaxed, enjoying the warmth and security that was the man beside her.
"Sleep well Jane," she whispered. "You're going to be fine."
