Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sunrise

Lisbon watched as Jane made Penny Jorsten take deep breaths, coaching her on when to inhale, when to exhale. His face was calm as he patted the little girl's back. Penny's fingers clutched at his shirt, her cheek pressed tight to his chest as she shook. Jane just kept patting, the soft rhythm like second nature.

He was such a child, Lisbon sometimes forgot he was also a father.

Gradually, Penny's tremors quieted under his touch. Lisbon handed Jane an Evian bottle, but he struggled to open it, wincing. She quickly took it back and cracked the seal for him. Jane gave the bottle to Penny.

"Slow sips," he instructed, his voice so scratchy it almost hurt to hear it. The little girl obediently took a small, careful swig, waited a moment, and then took another. Jane looked hopefully up at Lisbon. She already had a fresh bottle ready for him.

Jane took three long swallows, then closed his eyes and smiled reverently. "Ahh."

Lisbon smiled back. Jane opened his eyes and patted the empty spot beside him. Lisbon gratefully sank into it, crossing her weary legs and plopping Officer Michaels' backpack in her lap. She'd already called for help. There wasn't much more to do except take care of Jane and Penny until the rest of the cavalry arrived.

The little girl didn't have any apparent injuries, and had flinched away from Lisbon's touch when Lisbon tried to look her over, so the agent decided to leave a full exam up to the paramedics. Jane, on the other hand, had several obvious wounds – and maybe some not-so-obvious ones, as well.

He made faces as Lisbon swabbed his bloody hand with antibacterial wipes. Stripped of its grime, the skin around the cut was a puffy, furious red, and hot to the touch. Lisbon frowned. She tried to feel Jane's forehead, but he dodged her hand.

He wouldn't let her look at his hip, either.

"You don't want to see it," he told her. "It's ugly." Then he laid a protective hand over the red-stained spot, a tiny hint of color rising in his ghostly cheeks.

Lisbon wondered if he was actually feeling shy. Embarrassed, maybe, at the prospect of pulling his pants down in front of her. Of all the ridiculous times to be self-conscious...

But Jane was always so buttoned-up, so intensely private. It had actually been a shock, just to see his bare foot. Lisbon didn't think she'd ever seen his toes before. She decided not to push him on the hip wound. Let him keep whatever kernel of dignity he was trying to hold onto. He wasn't actively bleeding, and the medics would be here soon.

Lisbon turned her attention to the naked foot instead. The missing socks were no mystery; they were bundled around Penny's ankles. But Lisbon did wonder at the lack of a shoe. She was about to ask about it when Jane leaned over and plucked a wipe from the pack. He tenderly mopped a tiny smudge of crusted blood from Penny's cheek.

Lisbon noticed that even as the rest of his body moved, the leg with the bare foot remained utterly still. On closer inspection, she could see a small bump under the fabric of his pants, half-way up his shin. There wasn't any blood, though…

"What's wrong with your leg?" she asked.

Jane stopped cleaning Penny's face and turned to Lisbon. "I got shot," he informed her. "My first time. Think they'll give me a medal?" His eyes crinkled at the corners.

"No, there." She pointed, and his sparkle faded.

"Broken," Jane said.

By the look on his face, Lisbon didn't doubt it. She leaned forward, reaching out to slide up his pant-leg, but stopped when she saw Jane turn slightly green. He didn't want to see it. Lisbon decided she didn't need to look.

"The paramedics will be here soon," she told him, settling back against the rock.

Jane nodded, white-faced.

"Drink some more water," Lisbon instructed.

He smiled faintly. "Yes, Mom."

While Jane sipped, Lisbon glanced over at the body of the man she'd shot. She didn't even know his real name. And he'd walked right beside her most of the night – evil, hidden in plain sight. Lisbon's thoughts suddenly turned to the search party, the paramedics. In just a short time, there would be a swarm of uniforms here. Sirens and dogs and helicopter blades and vehicles, all piling on top of each other in loud, chaotic confusion.

Another perfect place to hide in plain sight…

"There were just the two of them, right?" she asked Jane. "Just him, and the one back at the house?"

"Just the two," Jane confirmed.

Lisbon nodded. "Good."

Jane gazed out at the rising sun, a ruby glow lighting his tired face. "So," he said slowly, "You found the man at the house…"

"Yes."

"He was dead?"

"Yes…"

Jane's eyes were unreadable, lost on the horizon.

"You didn't have a choice," Lisbon told him. "He had a gun, he would've killed you. It was self-defense…"

Jane turned and studied her face for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I didn't set him on fire, Lisbon."

"Oh."

She couldn't deny the rush of relief, irrational as it was. Everything she'd just told Jane was true: He would have been fully justified in using lethal force to defend himself. And yet, she was glad he hadn't – just like she was secretly glad whenever he flinched at the sound of gunshots, winced at the sight of a messy corpse, leapt back to avoid a flying fist.

If Jane could burn a man alive, then Jane could also cut a man open and watch him die slow. Lisbon was glad to have a reason – any reason – to keep hoping that the future might not be as dark as Jane painted it.

She didn't realize she was smiling until Jane smiled back.

"You're in a good mood," he commented.

She shrugged. "Just glad you're all right."

"Ah," Jane said. There was a knowing look on his face, as if he'd guessed her thoughts from a moment ago. Lisbon was almost afraid he would say something to puncture her bubble, point out how this situation and the Red John one were entirely different. Grimly tell her that his mind – and his plans – had not changed.

But he didn't. Instead, Jane cocked his head, and pointed at the sky. "Do you hear that?"

Lisbon listened.

Off in the distance, not yet in sight, she could make out the faint chugging of a helicopter.