A/N: Okay, this is the chapter that you've all been waiting for...

Disclaimer: Jane and Lisbon would have already had some makeout session in the attic or some declaration of feelings if I owned The Mentalist.

Lisbon's POV

Six Weeks Earlier

I watch in irritation as the local police poke around the corpse of Red John. He has not been officially identified yet. We don't know a legal name, but I doubt that we will actually find one. He probably sent it up in flames along with his past, before he decided to kill for sport.

I stare at the crazy bastard in disgust. This is the man that cut open dozens of innocent women in their own home, in their own bed. Not only did he tear his victims apart, literally, but he also tore apart their loved ones.

This is the man who killed Angela and Charlotte Jane.

And in the middle of my hate-filled views, another thought suddenly comes to me.

This is the man who brought Jane to me.

The thought does not make me hate the serial killer any less, but I am suddenly extremely appreciative that I was on the Red John case when Jane wandered aimlessly into the CBI building. He could have attempted to work with someone who didn't give a damn about what happened to him and despite my daily bogus wishes that Jane would walk out of my life, I know that I would – will - fall apart without him.

"Boss?"

I am jerked from my reminiscence by my stoic second in command. "What's up, Cho?"

"Where's Jane?"

"I let him go," I tell him, and I feel an unwanted pang in my chest at the double meaning. "Why?"

Cho looks at the body, then back to me. "There's a body of a Red John victim that was just found in the same hotel where we've all been staying," he explains. "The coroners have narrowed down the time frame of the murder to about an hour before Jane ditched us to come here."

My heart sinks. "Great," I mutter.

"Should I call Jane?"

"No," I say quickly. "No, don't do that. Let's just go check it out. You and Rigsby and Van Pelt take the van. I'll meet you there."

Cho gives me a brief nod before turning and walking out the door.

I know that I should call Jane, but the truth is, I am currently unsure if I will ever see him again, or if he would even answer my calls. The specific thought brings sudden tears to my eyes and I swallow hard and blink rapidly to make them disappear.

"Lisbon?"

I clear my throat and turn. Van Pelt is standing before me, a look of victory in her eyes.

"Hey, Grace," I say. I don't often use the first names of my team but somehow it seems appropriate now. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," she confesses.

I almost smile. Almost.

"What about you?" she asks. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." I should be, anyway, I think. Red John is dead. I should be ecstatic.

"I'll drive you to the crime scene."

"That won't be necessary," I insist. "You can go with the guys."

"But Jane already left."

I bite back some sort of nasty retort. "I know."

"I'm driving you." She smiles encouragingly.

I conclude that there is no use in arguing with her so I simply nod and follow her out.

But it doesn't feel right. It should be Jane.

X

Present

I swallow hard. "W-what?" I stammer like an idiot.

"Well, typically when one is pregnant," he says in a teasing tone, "she has some help with the process of becoming pregnant."

I glance over at him to examine his expression. It's not light and mocking, like his voice seemed to be. It's strained, rigid. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw is clenched tightly. He's not looking at me. He's watching through the windshield but I know he's not seeing anything. In that moment my heart stops as I come to the sudden realization that Jane is hurt.

"Jane, are you okay?"

"Of course."

"We don't have to talk about this now."

"Alright, if that's what you want."

It's not what I want. Not by a long shot.

In fact, there's really only one thing I do want, and it is most definitely not his silence.

But I don't tell him this. I turn on the radio and attempt to drown out the voices in my head telling me that he should know, that he wants to know but he doesn't at the same time. He'll be good about it, I know that. He'll support me and help me with anything I need. But deep down, he'll never see me the same way ever again.

X

Six Weeks Earlier

"We wouldn't let the coroners touch him until we got an ID," Cho explains in a flat tone.

"Out of respect," Rigsby adds.

I nod and brush past them and into the hotel room.

The first thing I notice about the crime scene is the red smile on the wall. No surprise there. It was the killer's intention. But even after seeing that smile for almost ten years, it still makes my pulse quicken and my breath halt.

I also notice Partridge in the corner of the room and suppress an irritable groan. The last thing I need today is for that creep to pretend like he knows everything there is to know about Red John.

I notice one last thing and I suddenly begin to panic.

"Oh my God," I hiss.

"Boss?"

I am snapped out of my ten seconds of pure shock and turn toward Van Pelt. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

I nod stiffly. "Yes. I'm sure you can easily find the ID of this man through the hotel database or just his luggage." I gesture to the suitcase on the ground. "Let his family and friends know soon. Don't let them find out through the media because there are reporters crawling all over this hotel." With that, I spin on my heel and flee the room quickly, ignoring the members of my team as they shout my name.

I'm rounding the corner of the hallway when I slam into a bigger, taller figure. I jump back and mumble a hurried sorry but a hand reaches out to touch my arm. I flinch, and then notice the grey three-piece suit.

I look up. "Jane?" I whisper.

"You didn't call me," he accuses.

I blink, confused at first, and then glance back toward the room of the crime scene. "Oh," I say softly. It's all I can think of.

"Yeah. Oh." He doesn't seem angry. In fact, he smiles at me.

"You seem… happy."

"Red John's dead," he responds simply.

I stare at him. "Jane, I think you're in denial."

"I'm not." He was almost… smiling.

"I think you are."

"No. I'm not," he insists.

I swallow. "The crime scene is that way." I attempt to pass him but he grasps my arm and tugs me around the corner, out of sight.

"I didn't come for the crime scene."

I scrunch my brows together. "You know that it's…"

"Red John? Yeah, I know."

I don't even both asking how he found out. "And you're not here for that?" I ask, skeptical.

"No, I came for you."

My heart sinks. He's come to say goodbye.

Every muscle in my body is aching to be close to him. I want nothing more than to throw my arms around him and beg him not to leave me.

But I don't throw my arms around him.

Instead, he puts his arms around me.

I am frozen for a solid ten seconds before I finally respond by sliding my arms up and around his torso. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow hard, determined to keep my emotions in check but completely lose it when I feel him bury his face in my hair. Today's drama is too much and I start to shake. Tears begin to escape from my eyes and leak onto his vest. His hug tightens and I feel myself relax into his embrace and I can't help but think to myself how unlike us this is. Our hugs are rare and never this intimate.

"Lisbon?"

I don't answer, fearing my voice may crack dramatically. I tighten my arms in response instead.

"I'm not leaving," he finally says.

I gasp and pull back, wiping at my eyes. "You're not?"

"No. I'm not."

I smack him.

"Ow!" he shrieks, though I notice that he still doesn't release me completely. "What's that about?"

"I'm crying, you son of a bitch!"

"I'm sorry." He sounds sincere, and my heart melts as he reaches up to brush a runaway tear from my cheek.

I reluctantly step away from his warm embrace and sigh. "They took my statement," I say. "They just need to take Van Pelt's and schedule her counseling and all that, and then the team is free to go. I think I'm going to head out now."

"I'll come with you."

"I think I'd rather be alone."

I can tell my answer catches him slightly off guard by the way he raises his eyebrows. He looks as if he's about to say something and then eventually closes his mouth and nods. "Okay."

I attempt a smile as I brush past him, but the tears begin to stream down my face all the way to the elevator.

X

Present

"Why'd you do it, Jacob?" Rigsby asks the man sitting across from him, two days after my awkward car ride with Jane.

I stand behind the glass and slide my glance over to Jane. I'm almost positive that he knows exactly why this man killed Gregory Smith. Jane has been relatively quiet the past couple of days, besides a brief "might want to check into the wife's brother".

"He was cheating on Amelia," Jacob replies.

"Yes. He was. So you were defending your sister's honor?"

The young man shrugs. "In a way, I guess," he says. "I really didn't plan on killing him. Honestly."

"Then why'd you have a gun with you?"

Jacob sighs. "I'm sure you know by now that my record isn't great," he offers. "And there are a lot of sketchy people out there that want to kill me. I carry a gun. No big deal. I didn't mean to kill Greg, I really didn't. I met him at his restaurant to set some things straight." He leans forward. "Treat my sister right or deal with me, is what I told him. And you know what he did?" Jacob scoffs. "He laughed in my face! Called me a loser, told me to get my own shit together before I tried to protect someone else and I just… lost it." He shakes his head. "Amelia deserves better than that. You know?"

Rigsby shrugs a shoulder. "Does she deserve to lose both her husband and brother?"

The man goes quiet.

Rigsby gives a small triumphant smile and stands up from the table, picking up the file and walking out without glancing back at Amelia Smith's brother.

"Did you know this whole time?" I ask Jane, smirking at him.

He looks surprised. "About…?" His eyes flicker down to my stomach before meeting my eyes.

"No. The brother."

"Oh. Yes."

"Thanks so much for the insight."

Jane shrugs and holds open the door for me, briefly placing his hand on the small of my back in his usual fashion as I walk through. "It's always good to explore other options, too."

"No, it's not. It's a waste of time."

I'm about to enter the break room when Jane grips my arm and spins me around. I open my mouth to snap at him for momentarily making my dizzy but the look in his eyes stops me. He looks scared, almost desperate. My eyes widen. "Jane, what's wrong?"

His eyes have suddenly gone dark and they search mine frantically. His intense stares burns but I don't – can't – look away. Then he shakes his head. "Nothing," he mutters, releasing me and squaring his shoulders. "Sorry. I thought you were going to fall."

"What?"

"If you need me, I'll be in the attic."

I watch him walk away with his shoulders slumped. I consider going after him, sitting him down and talking to him about all of this. Because I can tell it's bothering him. I'm not an idiot, after all. He's dying to know but he's afraid to find out. I want to talk to him. I want to talk to him about everything that was said and thought and wished for at that hotel bar, and I want to talk to him about the events that followed. I want him to know, but I don't all at the same time.

I love him. I have for a long time. He deserves to know the truth, and soon he will. I owe him that much. To others it may seem like I owe him nothing but I feel like I owe him everything for not leaving me six weeks ago. But I need to figure some things about before he knows the truth.

My mind wanders back to the baby. Each time I think of him or her, I grow anxious and nervous and completely petrified. But then I think back to what Jane said about being a parent and I allow myself to smile and be excited about becoming a mother. This is what I've wanted for years, right? Why not embrace it, especially now?

X

A month goes by and Jane and I still do not speak of my pregnancy.

But the silence means nothing when it lingers between us at all hours of the day. I often catch him stealing glances at my stomach, checking for swelling. More than once, I have considered bringing it up but I always decide against it, telling myself I'll do it another day, when we don't have a case. Or another day, when there isn't so much paperwork. Or another day, when I am not a complete coward.

And then, one day, it's him that brings it up.

"Have you had your first doctor's appointment?" he asks.

I look up from my paperwork to meet his eyes. He's sprawled out on my couch in my office, acting completely nonchalant about the question as if we talk about it all the time. I nod. "Yeah, a couple weeks ago."

"How'd that go?"

"Good," I answer cautiously. "Why?"

Jane shrugs. "Just curious." There's a pause before he asks, "Did you go alone?"

"Yes."

"I would have come with you."

"It was fine," I assure him. "You can't really see much anyway. You would have been bored."

He rolls his eyes. "I wasn't so much concerned about my entertainment, Lisbon. I would have gone with you for you."

"That's sweet, Jane. Really. But you don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"This." I refuse to spell it out for him.

"What?" he asks, sincerely confused. "Be there for you?"

"Well, you-" I clamp my mouth shut before finishing, knowing that if I do, it'll hurt us both.

He looks intrigued. He stands up and walks toward my desk. "No, please. Go on."

I drop my eyes to my desk. "No."

I gasp as he takes my chin gently in one hand and tilts it up, so I am looking directly into his eyes. "Tell me, Teresa."

That damn first name card. It gets me every time. "It's just… before Red John died," I say slowly, watching his eyes harden at the sound of the serial killer's name, "you wouldn't have been interested in helping me. He always came first." My heart sinks as he removes his hand from my face. I know by now that I have hurt him, but for whatever freaking reason, I continue. "And I'm sorry, Jane, but I just…" I trail off, unable to finish.

"You don't trust me," he murmurs.

"It's not that."

"Yes, it is." He backs away. "I understand, Lisbon." He turns and walks toward the door.

Panic starts to build. "No, Jane, please don't go." I sound pathetic but I don't care. I've watched him leave way too many times for my liking.

He pauses in the doorway and glances back at me. "I'm not going anywhere, Lisbon," he promises before walking out.

X

I drive home in silence. No radio, no company, nothing.

Regardless of the countless number of times he's broken my heart, I hate hurting Jane. Not only is he very good at the wounded puppy dog look, but I never know how far I can push him before he takes off and it scares the hell out of me. Because I can't lose him. Not again. Those six months while he was in Vegas was pure hell and I don't know if I could survive a lifetime of it.

Back when Red John was still around, there were times where I considered killing Jane myself, with his manipulation and his lying and scheming and irresistible blue eyes. But I wouldn't have it any other way, or with anybody else.

Because he's Jane. And I'm Lisbon. We're Jane and Lisbon, as corny as it may sound.

I sigh as I park my car in front of my apartment building. I gather my things and get out of the car. I am on my way toward the staircase when I notice a familiar car parked a few spots down from mine. My lips twitch and I hurry to the driver's side and tap on the window. Jane jumps in surprise and stares up at me. I raise my brows and he opens his door. "Hello."

"Hi," I say shyly.

I back away so he can fully open the door and get out. He shuts the door behind him and puts his hands on his hips, sighing. "We should really talk."

"I agree," I reply, a hint of reluctance coloring my tone. I nod toward the staircase. "Come in, Jane."

I lead him up the stairs and struggle to unlock the door, for my hands are shaking slightly and I'm sure he notices. But he doesn't say anything. He simply places his hand on the small of my back – something he does often but this time it feels different – as I walk through the door. The pressure is light but still makes the hairs on the back of my neck raise.

He takes a seat at my kitchen table and I can't decide if it makes me more nervous or slightly more comfortable. He then gestures for me to sit across from him and I sigh. "I'm sorry," I blurt out, plopping down into the chair. "I didn't mean that I don't trust you. That isn't what I meant at all."

"Yes it is, Lisbon," he says sadly. "But you have every right not to trust me." He looks away. "You have done so much for me and I have given you little to nothing in return."

And suddenly, I am the one who is sad. Because it isn't true. Sometimes, I do feel that way. But then I get to thinking about all the times Jane has been here for me and they definitely add up more than I originally thought.

The time I was framed for murder. He believed me when I told him I didn't remember the night of the murder. He hypnotized me in an attempt to get my memory back. He helped me catch the man who did it to me. And last but certainly not least, he never lost his faith in me.

Sam Bosco. When he was killed, I was a wreck. And Jane comforted me in the most simple, uncomplicated way possible. He was there.

Tommy Volker. That was when I began to understand the concept of revenge, and where Jane was coming from. And he was there, even if I didn't want him to be. I want you to be careful, he'd said.

Sheriff Hardy. He was the closest we'd ever been to Red John at the time, and he'd almost killed me. But Jane shot him. Killed him, for me. That was before Jane and I had even formed the strong bond that we have now, but he must have seen whatever little significance my life holds and chose to save me.

Jane cares about me.

And he has been here.

"No," I finally say firmly. "That's not true."

"But–"

"You're the best friend I've ever had," I decide aloud.

He looks up again and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. "If that's the case, then you deserve so much better."

I shake my head. "Not possible."

There is silence between us for a long time. Jane's hand slides across the table and is now mindlessly playing with my fingers and I blush. The silence continues for a few minutes before Jane finally says, "I think I'm ready."

"For what?"

"I'm ready to find out, Lisbon."

I am stunned into silence as I sit there and stare at him like an idiot, unsure of what to say.

He abruptly releases my fingers and stands up. "So, you can't be more than a few weeks pregnant," he begins nervously. "It's been about a month since you've found out and you're not showing at all, so I'd say you're about – what? – eight weeks along?" He begins pacing and continues without giving me the chance to correct him. "Eight weeks, that's two months. It's been two months since Red John died in Los Angeles and I went into that bittersweet shock and you know what, Lisbon?" He runs his hands through his hair and I struggle to regain my normal heart rate. "That night before we found him, that night before I woke up with that horrid hangover, I can't remember it clearly. It's… it's blurry." He stops pacing and looks me in the eyes.

My hands begin to shake. "Jane," I whisper hoarsely.

He places his hands on the back of the chair he had been sitting in, as if he needs it to maintain his balance. "All I remember," he says quietly, "is the hotel bartender cutting me off, and suddenly you were there, Lisbon." Jane takes a deep breath. "And you said something about me having too much to drink and that I should go to… to bed."

My bottom lip begins to tremble as I think back to that night. I never want to think, let alone speak, of that night again.

Yet Jane is here, forcing me to relive every damn memory.

"Please stop," I say almost silently.

He doesn't. "Your arm went around my waist." He nods. "I remember that. I remember liking it."

"Jane–"

"And you led me to the elevator, and you took me up to my room."

I remain quiet but I can feel the tears beginning to pool in my eyes.

Jane walks slowly around the table and kneels in front of me, looking up at me with those cornflower blue eyes. He reaches up and takes both of my trembling hands in his. "Teresa," he murmurs. "I have to know. You have to be honest with me."

I bite my lip to keep it from quivering and nod. "Okay," I whimper pathetically.

"Is that my baby in there?"

As he speaks, he releases just one of my hands to lightly run his fingertips over my t-shirt covering my stomach but does not avert is eyes from mine. He stares, waiting for my reply.

The tears spill over and I shake my head warily. "No," I moan. I use my free hand to wipe my tears from my cheeks but they won't stop falling.

I never look away from his eyes.

They look confused, and angry, and even hurt.

I think, Lorelei Martins had said, that you do it to be close to Teresa Lisbon. I think you're a little bit in love with her.

Good luck, Teresa. Love you.

Ours is more of a platonic love.

And I know that I've broken his heart.

TBC

A/N: Don't hate me...

This story is definitely not over.

However, if you'd like some sort of insight on where this is going, I have four words for you. "Read between the lines."