Author's Note: I couldn't get this fic out of my head while on my business trip, with the result that you're getting a chapter earlier than I thought, but I'm really sleep deprived so I'm not prepared to vouch for the quality of it! Thank you for your patience during this fic's hiatus. And I read and re-read reviews to keep myself sane between all-day meetings, so heartfelt thanks to all of you who contributed to that!

Chapter 24

They were blessed with a partly sunny day for sightseeing, but neither of them had much energy, so they weren't able to get through the ambitious itinerary Lisbon had planned. By four o'clock, they had to admit defeat and settled at a little cafe for caffeine and snacks.

"Next time we go on vacation, I think we should skip the hangover part," Jane remarked, sipping his tea. "Or skip the sightseeing part, I suppose. It's the combination that seems to be problematic."

"Yeah," Lisbon sighed. "Maybe we can come back someday."

"In summer, preferably," he agreed. He reached across the table and took her hand. "But I love my Christmas present. I couldn't have wished for anything better. There's only one problem with it."

Lisbon concealed the pang of hurt beneath sarcasm. "I take it you're not referring to the lawbreaking part of our excursion."

"Lawbreaking? Lisbon, I've been remarkably well behaved in the 24 hours we've been here." Jane seemed perplexed.

"I was referring to the indecent exposure in a cab incident," she informed him.

He grinned. "Oh, that. Nobody saw anything. The problem I was referring to is: how are you going to top that next year?"

"I have a year to think about it." She was distracted by him playing with her hand, rubbing one of his fingers over her ring. It seemed to be a new habit of his, since he no longer wore one to fiddle with when he was anxious or emotional. And it reminded her that he'd done it last night before they fell asleep. She frowned as she remembered their conversation. "Jane." But she was stuck for what to say after that.

"Uh oh," he said, looking closely at her. "What did I do to sink back to last-name status?"

"How drunk were you last night?"

"That depends entirely on why you're asking."

She decided the direct approach was her best option. "Do you really want to get married?"

He blinked, then put on his smarmiest grin. "Why Teresa, is that a proposal?"

"No. Because we can't."

"Ah, but we can. I have a cunning plan to deal with the Bertram problem."

Uh oh. Smug Jane always made her wonder what was about to go wrong. "All right, we'll leave that aside for now. What about the other reasons?"

His grip on her hand tightened, just for an instant, like a reflex. She wondered what had triggered it, but he looked as composed as ever. "Other reasons, my dear? You'll have to spell them out, I'm afraid, because I can't think of any."

"How about the fact that we've only been together for what, two months?"

"Ten weeks," Jane corrected. Mercifully, he didn't add the days, hours, and minutes, although she was certain he could. She wondered exactly when he was counting from. The first time they'd made love at the bed and breakfast? Or when he woke her with a kiss, trying to save her from Red John's twisted trap? Not that those events were all that far apart, she realized.

She dragged her attention back to the present as Jane continued, "But it's not like we were strangers before that. I couldn't begin to guess how many hours we've spent together or how many meals we've shared. We certainly know each other's annoying habits by now. I knew that you snored when you were overtired long before we started sleeping together, and you've certainly had opportunities to observe me in my sleep as well. Admit it, you've been surprised at how few surprises we've had for each other, apart from how incredible the sex is."

It was true they spent more time together at work than most married couples did at home, she thought. Still, there was a difference. "But we don't talk about the important things. I have no idea what you'd want out of marriage."

"You," he said promptly. "Legally and forever. I'm not asking for anything you don't already give me, Teresa. In some ways, it wouldn't make much difference. But in others, it would make all the difference in the world."

"I guess that's the part I don't understand," she admitted. "If not much would change, why is it important?"

He gave her a look she was familiar with from cases: he couldn't believe he had to explain himself because it was so obvious to him. "You know it's important," he said, "or you wouldn't feel so strongly about it."

"It's important to me because it's a religious ceremony," she replied. "I believe I'll be held accountable for any vows I make. But you don't, so you must have some other reason."

"I'm not worried about what some mythical deity might think about it, true," he said, "but I believe I'm accountable to the person I make my vows to. I was never unfaithful to Angela, despite a great many opportunities, and I will be faithful to you despite any temptations I might encounter." He seemed to realize he was getting worked up and deliberately relaxed, adding, "And not just because I'm afraid you'd shoot me if I strayed."

"So you think we need the vows to be faithful to each other?" she frowned.

"No. I think we need the vows to define for ourselves and everyone else what we are to each other." He stopped playing with her hand and gripped it firmly. "Because I know that I'm with you until death parts us, but I don't know that you feel the same."

"I do feel the same," she protested. As alien as the concept seemed at times, she was sure she was with him to the end, because she could not imagine anything that would make her walk away from him.

"Then what difference does it make whether we've been together ten weeks or ten years?"

He was making sense, she thought, but somehow she remained unconvinced.

Jane scrutinized her expression. "Did something happen when you were a girl that made you think your mother felt trapped in her marriage?"

Lisbon blinked in surprise. "I—I don't think so. Not one thing, anyway. It wasn't until I was older that I wondered."

"Ah." Jane looked pleased with himself. "Of course. After you'd raised your brothers and did your best with your father, who never appreciated all you did or even seemed to notice it. You felt trapped, so you started to think your mother must have too. And you extrapolated that to marriage in general. So even though you loved poor Greg enough to say yes when he asked, you panicked at the thought of being trapped again. And then I come along and disrupt your promising career, causing you grief and trouble every time you turn around and making you feel like your options are narrowing. But you fall in love with me anyway, despite your best efforts to avoid it. And you're afraid that marrying me will doom you to another trap, trying to fix a broken man who never even notices how hard you're trying to save him."

She stared at him, not sure how much of that was true or, if it was, what she was supposed to do about it.

"But I do notice, Teresa. I always have," Jane said tenderly. "I haven't always acknowledged it, true. Partly out of selfishness, and partly out of a desire not to encourage you, at least in the beginning. And I will probably always be basically a selfish person who in no way deserves you. The fact that I wasn't strong enough to walk away from you when there was still a chance you would escape unscathed is enough evidence of that."

He paused, looking at their clasped hands, then met her gaze again. "The story I told you about how I proposed to Angela—I told it to you as a funny story, but the truth is, it breaks my heart every time I think about it. Because if she had said no, she'd be alive today. And I can't help wondering if she died wishing she had."

She gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"And I can't say I never caused her to regret saying yes, because I know there were times she surely did. I was a selfish bastard who never loved her in the unselfish way she deserved. And maybe the only thing that's changed about me is that I know that now. But I try not to repeat my mistakes, Teresa. I will make mistakes, and some days I'm sure you'll wish you'd never met me. But I will try never to be ungrateful for you, or take you for granted. You're the second chance I never deserved and never thought I'd get."

She found herself blinking back tears. "I don't think you're nearly as selfish as you believe, Jane."

"Oh, I am," he whispered, shaking his head. "But you make me want not to be."

They looked at each other for a moment, until Jane patted her hand and leaned back, regaining his normal nonchalance. "So that's one objection disposed of. Well, two, if I managed to put to rest your fear of committing to me. Do you have any more?"

"Do you really think we can work together and live together without getting on each other's nerves?"

Jane grinned. "We've done okay so far. And I'm sure there will be times you want to get rid of me, but I'm also confident you'll either tell me to go away for a while or send me off with one of the others on some tedious bit of investigation. Next objection."

"I always thought I'd get married in the church."

"Then let's get married in church," he shrugged. "They don't actually require me to convert, do they? Although if they did, I suppose I could take Henri IV as my example. He said that Paris was worth a mass, and I certainly think you are, my dear."

"Please don't pretend to convert," she said, pained at the thought. "I'd rather have you an honest atheist than a churchgoing liar. The thing is, we'd have to get premarital counseling, and I just don't see you sitting through that without starting something we'd all regret."

"Well it does seem odd to take marital advice from someone who's not allowed to marry," Jane pointed out. "I'd know more about it than he would. But I suppose I can endure anything with the right incentive. If we get married in church, are you going to wear something white and frilly?"

"White, maybe. Frilly, no. It's not like this would be anything more than a private ceremony. I'd probably just wear a suit. Though I suppose it would have to have a skirt, at least."

Jane sighed. "None of this sounds particularly attractive to me, Teresa, but since it means so much to you, I will endure it with as good a grace as I can muster. Next objection?"

Why was her mind blank? There had to be more reasons she couldn't marry Jane. It was just ridiculously impossible, after all. Wasn't it? "I'm sure I'll think of more later," she said lamely.

He smiled at her, the affection in his gaze tinged with smugness. "I'm sure you will, my dear."

mmm

The team caught a new case before Lisbon and Jane's plane landed, so they didn't even have time to unpack before they were back in the office listening to Cho catch them up on what they'd missed. Apparently their victim was a frustrated, unpublished novelist whose work did not merit half the time he'd devoted to it, according to Cho's literary critique. So Jane happily took the latest manuscript to look for any clues about the author's real life, despite his colleagues' skepticism.

When they'd finished the briefing and were about to disperse to their appointed tasks, Rigsby said, "Hey, how was your trip?"

Lisbon was just a second too slow to prevent Jane answering. "Oh, I had a great time. I met this Lovely woman who knocked my socks off. She was amazing. Wasn't she, Lisbon?"

The others looked at him in dismayed disbelief, then turned to Lisbon. She rose to the occasion admirably, snarking, "Well, she certainly made an exhibition of herself. I had no idea your taste in women was so flashy, Jane."

"Don't worry, Lisbon. I still like you best," he said in his best patronizing tone.

Grace was looking worried, so Jane winked at her. That seemed to break the tension, and they all got back to work.

mmm

The case dragged on throughout the week, frustrating them all. Jane was more convinced than ever that there was a vital clue in the manuscript, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Lisbon was annoyed that they couldn't seem to find any suspects in the victim's very limited social circle, and she was dismissive of Jane's manuscript-as-clue theory. "It's fiction, Jane. And I can see why. If this guy wrote about his real life—what there was of it—it would be a sleeping pill on paper. Come on, everybody else has gone home."

"I'll stay here a little longer."

She folded her arms and frowned at him. "You're not staying the night, are you?"

As if he would intentionally do that, he thought. Even his beloved couch didn't compare to the delights of Lisbon's bed. "I'll just finish going over this chapter. The protagonist's girlfriend is bugging me. There's a clue here, I know it."

"The girlfriend was apparently the most fictional part of all," Lisbon sighed. "Good night, Jane."

"Good night, Lisbon. Sleep tight," he called after her, settling back down to his reading.

Thirty minutes later, his phone rang. He frowned at being interrupted, but he knew she would worry if he didn't pick up. "Yes, Lisbon? Did you have an inspiration about the case?"

"I need you to come look at something."

He grinned. "Why, Lisbon. Is it something sexy, or are you having delusions about my home repair skills?"

"It's an unmarked envelope with photos inside," she replied, and now he could clearly hear the strain in her voice.

"I'll be right there," he promised, dropping the manuscript on the couch and hurrying toward the elevator.

mmm

Lisbon left the envelope on the table for Jane, putting the photos back inside so she didn't have to look at them while she waited. She should have expected this, she knew. They'd been aware for years that Red John kept close tabs on Jane, and they'd known there was a possibility that they'd be observed on their trip. But Lovely Fiancée didn't think about those things, apparently.

Jane must have driven even more like a maniac than usual; he flung the door open barely fifteen minutes after her call. She pointed to the envelope on the little table near the door, but he came to her first, looking her over and asking, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, but she was sure her body language was saying something different. She handed him a pair of gloves. "I doubt we'll get anything from it, but just in case."

He wrinkled his nose at the gloves and, instead of putting them on, used them like potholders to slide the 8x10s out of the plain brown envelope and spread them on the table. "Ah," was all he said at first. His gaze slid over to her, and he seemed to change his mind about whatever remark he'd almost made. "Well, perhaps there's a trail attached to the professional shot. That had to be purchased, as I recall."

"They probably paid cash on the spot. Obviously whoever took the others was in the room with us," Lisbon pointed out.

"And must have followed us out," Jane agreed. After a moment, he said, "I think there was more than one of them. The person who followed us out couldn't have gotten to our hotel in time to take the shot of you getting out of the cab."

Lisbon couldn't help a shiver. "What's the point of this? Just to let us know we're watched?"

Jane began flipping the photos over. "Ah ha." He held one up. It was a shot of her holding out her left hand for a woman they'd chatted with to more closely inspect her ring. Lisbon had to admit she looked genuinely happy, and the look on Jane's face managed to be both proud and tender. But when Jane showed her the back of the photo, its allure vanished. Written in red marker was "Congratulations" along with the hated smiley face.

"We need to turn these over to the FBI," Lisbon forced herself to say without cringing. She'd had time to steel herself for this, and it was definitely the right thing to do.

"Yes," Jane said unexpectedly. "But we'll take them to Bertram first. They'll be useful props." He looked over the other photos again. "I wonder if we can keep the one of us dancing. I really like it."

"I'd rather have the professional shot. At least that was taken with our consent," she said in a bitter tone. She hated thinking that one of Red John's friends had seen her so drunk, so vulnerable. Such an easy target.

"Mm," Jane said, but she wasn't sure if that signified agreement or was just his way of letting her know he understood. Then he put the photos back in the envelope and came over to put his arms around her.

She returned the embrace gladly, murmuring, "I hate this."

"I'll get to work on finding a more secure place."

"It won't help," she said.

"It might help a little. And he'll enjoy thinking we're afraid of him," Jane said thoughtfully. "Tomorrow, we'll make an appointment to go talk to Bertram. Tell him we've received a message from Red John, and I bet he'll clear a space in his schedule. Once we tell him we're getting married, it won't be long before Red John hears about it. He'll be satisfied with that for a while."

"We're getting fake married," Lisbon insisted, pulling away from his warmth regretfully.

"Naturally," Jane said. "We're getting fake married with a real minister—"

"Rigsby," Lisbon corrected, rolling her eyes.

"—and a real license, because you know Red John's going to check, and it's a matter of public record. So what exactly makes it fake?" Jane tilted his head and looked curiously at her.

"I—the fact that we don't mean it." She was having the sinking feeling she was losing the argument. "That once Red John gets tired of jerking us around, we'll get an annulment."

"On what grounds? It won't be lack of consummation," Jane grinned.

It occurred to Lisbon that going to a priest and explaining that she'd married a man with no intention of staying married to him was probably not going to go over well. And she was a little fuzzy on what reasons were acceptable for annulment. "We'll think of something."

"Certainly," Jane said. His tone was almost cheerful, and his eyes sparkled with laughter. "After twenty or thirty years, I'm sure something will occur to us."

Oh, she had definitely lost the argument. She was going to end up with a tombstone that said "beloved wife." But she was clear on the name that would be above it. "I'm keeping my name."

"Naturally." Jane looked surprised. "It would be far too confusing for everyone to call us both Jane. And I'm fond of your name. I wouldn't want you to change it, to be honest."

"Really?" It was her turn to be surprised. He was so old-fashioned that she'd assumed he'd want her to take his name.

"Really." He paused, then added, "I do want any children to have my last name, though."

"We can negotiate that when and if it becomes relevant," she replied. "What are you planning to do to Bertram? Remember that he can fire us for working the Red John case."

"We're not working the case. We're playing along with a serial killer. If the FBI has any brains, they'll start watching for someone watching us," Jane said. "Interagency cooperation. It's a beautiful thing."

Lisbon groaned. "Oh, great. So now we'll have not only serial killer disciples but also FBI agents scrutinizing our every move."

"Think of it as an entourage," Jane advised. "Of course, sometimes those two roles may reside in one person."

"So what are we telling Bertram?" She wanted to be clear on the plan for a change.

"The truth. Red John wants us to get married. When we didn't take the hint, he killed two innocent people as a clear message to us. We have no choice but to get married, despite your obvious and understandable reluctance. You don't intend it to be real, of course, no matter what I may say or think about it." He grinned. "See? I'm not asking you to stretch the truth even a little bit, for a change. The beautiful part is, Bertram won't believe us, because he's suspicious."

"I can't think why," Lisbon sighed.

"So he'll think you've succumbed to my charms and are marrying me for real, using Red John as an excuse."

Lisbon rubbed at her forehead. The headaches weren't as severe as they'd originally been unless she actively tried to remember him, but she hadn't been able to get rid of them entirely.

"But he'll have no choice but to let us, and not separate us, because Red John wouldn't like that," Jane continued.

Lisbon resigned herself to becoming the most notorious person in the CBI for the foreseeable future. "I guess he wouldn't."

"It's brilliant," Jane chuckled. "I can't wait to see his face when he realizes what's going on." Then he frowned at her. "What's the matter? This plan is foolproof."

"First of all, no plan is foolproof," she retorted. "And second, how far does this go, Jane? He wants us to get married, so we do. He put that damn fixation in my head about having a baby, so he obviously wants that too. Why?" The desperation leaked into her voice. She still struggled with taking her pill every day, kept on schedule only by Jane double checking that she'd done it. Some days she honestly did forget, but was that a result of being busy and keeping odd hours, or a remnant of the urge to get pregnant? She should just get an implant and be done with it, she thought.

Jane's expression sobered. "There are two possibilities. The optimistic one is that he wants to replace what he took from me. He found me with a wife and child, so he'll leave me with a wife and child."

"And the pessimistic one is that he wants you to have another wife and child he can kill, for whatever twisted reason," Lisbon guessed.

"Yes."

"We should have Rigsby dress up as the grim reaper for the wedding," Lisbon muttered. "And there's no freaking way I'm bringing a child into the world with a target on it."

"We're agreed on that," Jane said. "And I wouldn't marry you if I thought it would put you in more danger. But I'm afraid that's impossible at this point. That nightmare I had the other night? He got tired of waiting and killed you so I would be free to find someone who would marry me."

"He knows you better than that," Lisbon said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"He's a sociopath. He can't understand love, not really," Jane said. "We don't know what he sees when he looks at us. But I'm sure it's not what we see."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'm sure about that too." Then she shook her head. "I wonder what Bertram will see."

Jane huffed in amusement. "He'll see what he always sees—me talking you into something extremely unwise. Which is true, in a way. It's just that the other options are even less wise."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Lisbon said drily. Before she met Jane, she'd always thought people said that to excuse their lack of self-discipline. But now she truly understood it.

"Yes, it does." Jane drew her back into his arms and kissed her, just long enough to make her feel warm again. "And I want to make your heart happy, Teresa."

"I know," she whispered. She just wished she was clear on exactly what that would take.