Starting over, carrying on

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

*A/N* I rather like the way this turned out. It's sort of depressing, but I think it does more or less catch the way things are between these two.
This is the final chapter and I hope you guys enjoyed my story.

(Do have a look on my other Mentalist stories if you want, though.)

"Hey Jane!" She looked so glad to see him, so genuinely happy he was there to pick her up that he almost forgot how mad he was at her. But only for a second. Then the ice-cold emptiness, the searing pain, the bitter disappointment in the whole bloody world that allowed such things to happen and the crushing fear broke loose again and violently forced their way to the surface.

"For Heaven's sake, what did I tell you, Lisbon?" He took a couple of steps towards her and he could tell by her face that he was seriously frightening her, but that couldn't stop him. "What did I say? I said he was gonna come for you, I told you, and now look what happened!"

"I…"

"Everyone thought you were dead, Lisbon, damn it! Do you realize what that means? Dead? Everybody thought we'd never get you out of there alive, I thought I'd never see you again!" He swallowed hard and tried to lower the noise level since he supposed the whole hospital had just heard him. "I thought I'd lost you, too, and you've got no idea how that felt."

She just stared at him and he could detect a tear shimmering in her eyes. "Jane, I…"

Not waiting for her to finish her sentence and quite frankly not expecting she ever would, he grabbed her and pulled her close, so close she winced because he was hurting her. He had to force himself to let her go a little.

His boiling anger faded quickly. But the dread of losing her, the only thing left in the world he cared about, wouldn't go away, not now and not in a thousand years.

"That was a stupid thing to do," he muttered in her hair.

"I know. I'm sorry."

He laughed. "I didn't mean you. I should have never told you."

With surprising strength, she wriggled out of his embrace and gave him one of her angry glares. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed and ran his hands over his tired eyes. If only he could finally sleep…

"It's supposed to mean that you've been in enough danger as it was, because I was so painfully obvious about caring for you." He didn't miss the disbelieving frown on her face, but went on talking because this was nothing he would discuss with her. "And then, I gave you precious information which made you not only my bespoke torture device but also a threat. It's all my fault, I'm sorry."

"Right," she said with a deadly calm voice. "Go on, claim all the responsibility, that's what you do best, Jane. It was my decision to go there. It's hardly your fault I'm stupid."

Smiling slightly, he gently shoved her towards the car and answered: "Have it your way, Lisbon. You almost died, I won't argue with you. Not today." He held the door open for her. The passenger door, obviously.

"I'm driving," she declared hotly, but he shook his head and pointed towards the seat, grinning.

"No way."

"But-"

"We're not discussing this."

"Jane!"

"Hush."

~o~o~o~

"So what's the plan?"

He had a vague idea to keep her talking because the moment she fell silent, he would have to turn around and check if she was still there and not dead or his imagination. And then probably crash into a tree or something, which would then lead to both their certain deaths because he was driving much too fast.

Of course, he was not going to tell her about this plan.

"First of all, can I sleep at your place tonight?"

"How exactly am I supposed to understand that, Jane?"

Huh. Did that really sound so wrong?

She had probably misunderstood his intentions because of his hoarse voice, but he thought he was doing a fairly good job considering the amount of crying he had done in the last twenty-four hours. Or maybe she had just heard in his voice what he had thought for a millisecond and shoved away immediately.

"On the couch."

"Why?"

He couldn't resist a quick glance over his shoulder to see her face, trying to figure whether she was angry.

"Eyes on the road, would you? I'd appreciate it to not die in your car after I survived a serial killer, thank you very much."

Sighing theatrically, he slowed down a bit.

"Please, Lisbon."

"You've got enough money to rent a flat, I don't see why you can't live like normal people."

He went for sympathy. That usually worked. "I just...can't sleep in that house tonight. Please."

"Sleep in the attic. Or at the office."

"Surrounded by photos of smileys, it's just as bad."

"Take them off, then."

He put up his best contrite puppy face. "Please, Lisbon!"

"Fine," she snapped and slapped him on the arm at the sight of his satisfied smile.

~o~o~o~

"Why are you really here, Jane?"

He had plenty of lies set up, but a look on her still far too pale face told him that trying them would do him no good. He would have to tell her the truth. Damn.

"I enjoy the sight of you walking around, breathing and all."

She frowned. "Are you trying to tell me you're following me around just so you can see me…? I'm fine, Jane, I was out cold for a while, but I'm fine now. No need to stalk me, I won't faint or have a fit or something."

Damn, couldn't the woman take a hint?

"No, but I might. I keep seeing you there, with the… the blood on your face, looking very dead, did I mention? Not good for sleeping."

She had taken to staring now. It seemed to surprise her, shock her, even, that he was being honest.

Well, he couldn't blame her. It shocked him, too.

"Jane…"

"Don't worry about me," he said cheerily, waving her worried glance away, and dropped on the couch. "I'm fine here."

The whole conversation was ridiculous, they seemed to have each taken the role of the other, acting like he'd been the one abducted and knocked out for hours on end.

"You want a… cup of tea or something?", she asked lamely, avoiding his eyes.

"Sure, stay put, I'll make some." He got up, pushed her into a chair muttering something about rest and doctor's orders and fled into the kitchen.

Even making tea turned out to be hard because the wall between them was all he needed to prove his theory right. The moment he couldn't see her anymore he felt a diffuse uneasiness creeping up on him, developing into a rather serious breathing issue when he forced himself not to peak around the corner.

The question whether he was completely nuts or whether it was okay for someone with a massive trauma to behave like that didn't make it much easier, either.

"Tea's ready."

It was ridiculous really how relieved he was to find that she was still there.

"Thanks." She clutched her cup and stared darkly into the steam. "I can't remember a thing."

"Sorry?"

"Red John. He was there, wasn't he, he was there with me and I didn't even see him, or if I did, I forgot…"

He knew she was beating herself up for his sake, because she knew how much he had hoped there would be at least one good thing about the whole affair.

"Someone drugged you with chloroform, Lisbon, probably just a cloth over your face from behind, of course you didn't see him. He's too careful for that."

"I just don't understand." Her voice sounded a bit lost and very far away. "I mean, why lure me there, why kill Partridge, why not kill me?"

"To tell me that I'm powerless and just a pawn in his play, to threaten that next time, it'll be your blood on the wall, to get us back into the news…" He bit back the last idea he had about that and took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue. He's showing me that I still have a weak spot.

She continued to stare gloomily into her cup for a while. "Partridge said something before he died."

"Something useful?"

"Tyger, tyger."

"Just more of the same, then."

"Suppose so."

Her beautiful green eyes still seemed far too dark to him, and he hated Red John even more (if that was even possible) for all the shadows he had cast in them. But she didn't know that and he wouldn't tell her. Because knowing just how much he loved her and yet knowing it could never be enough, not even that, not even if she could love him back - it would break her heart. And that would break his all over again.

He was in pain, but he'd been for a very long time and if it meant he could spare her the misery, it didn't matter.

He didn't deserve her and he would never ever do this to her, he would stay abstinent and he would keep her at these few inches of distance left between them.

But he couldn't let her go, either.

He couldn't stop to drag her along with him into dangerous and terrible things and he couldn't stop being possessive and overly protective. He couldn't stop acting like he was keeping her safe when the truth was that he was hurting her more than anyone else in the world and he was basically claiming all her pain for himself.

He was too weak, too broken to lose her and his only hope was that, one day, she would find the strength to let him go and run away from him as far as she possibly could to stop him from hurting her time and time again.

A small, selfish part of him hoped she never would.

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