Okay. I lied. This was the hardest thing I've ever written. Ugh. I can't wait for this fic to be over. Why the hell did my brain come up with this idea? I need to learn when to say no, apparently.

Chapter Ten: Falter

A while later—not long enough, he thought desperately—she pulled back. He resisted at first, but she was firm and extracted herself, taking a step back and sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Their knees brushed and he found his gaze fixated on the contact.

"How?" His voice was a whisper, hoarse and wrung out with emotion. He heard her take a deep breath and knew she was trying to put together an answer.

"Let me start at the beginning." He saw her rub her hands against her thighs—a nervous, unsure gesture that somehow comforted him.

"I—well, you know—at least I think you do," she stumbled a bit, as if wondering where to start. He let her falter. "I went to follow that lead and you guys followed. You were almost right behind me."

He did remember. Stupidly, she had decided to get a head start while the rest of the team helped extract Jane from a particularly clingy, grieving woman.

If only she had waited.

Lisbon, either not noticing or ignoring his inner torment, continued. "He came out of nowhere. He had to have been expecting me and he acted fast. Too fast. I had no time to respond."

Her hand lifted and hovered over his knee for a moment, wanting to comfort but afraid to hurt. Eventually, she returned it to her own leg and he felt a pang of disappointment. Wished that she had more courage to reach out to him. She had so much courage in her day-to-day life. Why did it fail her when it came to the two of them?

"So, that thing you said before you shot me? Wh-what did you mean?"

"What did I say? I was—kinda hyped up."

"Ah. Boy, me too…"

"I don't remember much of what happened next. Cho told me later that I was knocked unconscious. Then, well, he cut me." Her hands disappeared from his vision and he glanced up quickly to see them touching her throat self-consciously. He could see now that there was a thin, white scar marring her skin.

He looked down again, clearing his throat. "But Grace. She said—"

"She's dead."

"She didn't know. She thought I had died. Hell, you all did. She didn't know that saying it would make you—" Lisbon stopped abruptly. The corner of Jane's mouth kicked up, darkly amused.

"You mean she didn't realize it would send me into the land of crazies?"

Lisbon stood, pacing the room. "Don't say that. You're not crazy. You just…"

He leaned back against the couch, content now to watch her frenetic movements, feeling calmer as she became more emotional. He felt himself slipping back to his normal façade, ever the watcher. This felt familiar. Normal.

Reading Lisbon. Trying to understand her. Draw her out.

"I just became unhinged, Lisbon." His voice was both amused and gentle. Even now, she was in denial about who he really was.

"Not unhinged," she denied vehemently. "Just…reminded of your family. Upset. Needing to get away from your emotions."

He shifted, uncomfortable at how well she knew him. He slid his gaze to the side, muttering, "Not reminded of my family. Not exactly. It was you."

She paused, not sure how to respond. She decided to do what they usually did and continued with her story. "By the time Rigsby realized I was still alive, it was too late. You were…well, you were pretty much catatonic."

"And after?" She sat in the armchair. "You just wouldn't see me. Couldn't, maybe. I don't know."

"I thought you were a hallucination."

She blinked, startled. "…you heard me then? Saw me?"

"Yes, but I tried not to. I have nightmares…" he trailed off, hoping he wouldn't have to explain. He didn't want to explain that he would dream of normalcy only to have it ripped from him when he stumbled upon her body. Bleeding out. On the pavement. In a bed. In her office. The interrogation room.

So many variations of horror. Death. Loss.

He didn't want to have to explain that he had been afraid the nightmares had leeched over onto his waking moments. He didn't want to explain that even he had believed himself insane. Just like all those years ago.

She leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees. Her eyes were soft and luminescent. "Oh, Jane…"

He closed his eyes briefly, sure that he would drown in the pity coloring her tone. "Yes, well, you always knew I wasn't the most stable individual. It's not like it was my first stay in the joint."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know you how you feel about that part of your past. And I tried—God, I tried. But you were so unreachable."

She twisted her hands together, obviously frustrated. She had been so helpless, unable to get through to him.

He had shattered and she hadn't been able to put him back together. He had the sick feeling that all of her attempts would leave her cut, bleeding, scarred from trying to piece together the shards.

But, as he always knew, he was a selfish man.

She was the only thing that could heal him and, though he didn't want to hurt her, he also didn't want to let her go.

Wasn't sure if he even could anymore.

They were interrupted when Cho came to the doorway. He stood, as if at attention, ignoring the heightened emotion in the room. "You tell him?"

Jane keenly understood immediately that there was more to come. Lisbon bit her lip.

"Not quite."

Now Jane sat up straighter. "Tell me what?"

Lisbon sighed.

"It's about Red John."