To my readers: I wanted to say how appreciative I am of those who take time to review and for your wonderful and encouraging comments. I also want to say that I am more than happy to have people critique my work – and even tell me they don't like something or feel I've gone off track. I appreciate anything that helps improve my writing and am fully aware that I am not the world's best writer.

"So, how are you doing?" Teresa asked as they lay in bed, curled up together.

"Fine", he grinned and kissed her gently on the temple. "All's well that ends well."

"I feel sorry for her", she said, staring up at the ceiling. "Mrs. Cargill I mean. I'm glad she got her little boy back, but then to find out her husband was cheating on her – poor woman."

"Mmm", Jane agreed, pulling her to him and holding her tightly. "He had everything and then he threw it away", he murmured softly into her neck. As he said the words he felt a jolt of guilt and pulled her closer. She responded with a hug.

"Maybe they can salvage their marriage", she said after a moment.

"Possibly. Depends on how strong and forgiving she is. Somehow I don't see it."

"No", she sighed. "Me either. Poor little boy."

Teresa watched Jane carefully, trying to tell if he was still bothered by the events of the day or if, in fact he was okay. After a moment her eyes narrowed.

"You're not fine" she finally announced, turning slightly in his arms so that she was gazing directly at him.

"What?" he frowned, looking adorably confused.

"You said you're fine, but you're not, are you?"

"What are you imagining now Lisbon?" he smiled. "I am fine, really. I'm just thinking about the case."

"What about it? Is it about – what you remembered – you know, the visions?"

"Visions", he said, his face growing serious. He'd been thinking about this since the case ended and knew he had to resolve it in his own mind. With a deep breath he pushed himself onto his side to face Teresa. "I don't need visions", he said, more forcefully than was useful for him. "I was able to solve the case with good old fashioned -"

"What? Good old fashioned what?"

"Observation, deduction" he gave a tiny smile, "brilliance."

She snorted. "So you're telling me you figured it out like you normally do – although I don't know if I'd say brilliance."

"Of course you would Lisbon – at least you'd think it", he told her, trying hard to sound relaxed and unconcerned. "No, I didn't figure it out with visions or any psychic powers. In fact, I still don't believe in psychics or psychic powers. That was just a – momentary lapse. I was tired", he said lightly.

She crinkled up her nose at that. "But you said you remembered – that you did have powers. And then there was the – the vision of the man who took Liam. You didn't imagine that – it really happened. I saw it."

"Meh! It was logical, Someone had to have broken into their yard to kidnap him and he would have had to use something to break the lock. And the father was an accountant so the chances are that it was someone he knew – hence the man in the suit. It was just coincidence that the drawing looked anything like the accomplice. But did you notice that that was all I saw? If I truly was a psychic I'd have seen where he took Liam."

"But – you said you felt a connection to him."

"Don't you sometimes feel a connection to the victims in your cases?"

"Yes but – that's different."

He raised his brows at that. "Maybe."

"Jane – you told me you saw things as a child – visions, people who weren't there. That's psychic."

"I was thinking about that and I yes, I did remember seeing people who weren't really there. But then, what child doesn't see imaginary people – or animals or dinosaurs? I remember -" he stopped suddenly and seemed to stare off into space.

"You remember what?" she asked gently, seeming to realize that he'd touched a memory that was difficult.

"Oh, I remember when Charlotte used to talk to her imaginary friend. She begged for a brother or sister and when we – well, instead she started to dream up this friend. Her name was Maggie and she'd talk to her all the time."

Teresa reached out and cupped his face, knowing how hard it was for him still to deal with memories of Charlotte, but appreciating that he was finally starting to open up and share them with her. She wondered briefly why he and Angela hadn't had more children, but knew it wasn't something she could ask. He leaned into her hand but after a few seconds blinked and then gave her a grateful smile.

After a few seconds she spoke. "And you're saying that's all it was with you?"

"Probably. I mean, I was extremely observant, even as a child. There's no doubt that I had some sort of -"

"Power?" she interrupted.

He grimaced. "Gift – or whatever you want to call it. I noticed things. I could read people's faces and tell what they were thinking and feeling. That, combined with my supposedly seeing people and events convinced my mother that I was psychic. There was a history of it in my family, she told me, so she believed it was true with me."

"I don't know – what about knowing things you couldn't know? That sounds like psychic powers to me."

He sighed and shook his head. "Teresa, how long have you known me? And how often have I known – or figured things out – that no one else knew or did? And you know I wasn't using psychic powers."

"Grace thinks you were."

He rolled his eyes at that. "Grace is way too gullible."

"So you're telling me that all that stuff – all the things you remembered – aren't really true?"

"No, I'm telling you that my mother believed them and taught me that they were true. For many years, as a child, I believed I did have powers. And she did teach me to use what I had – my gift you call it – carefully."

"So when did you stop believing you were psychic?"

He thought for a moment. "After she died", he said quietly. "At first it was just because my abilities were so tied up with her that I closed myself off to them. But then my father insisted that I use some of them to help make him money – but I convinced him, and over time grew to believe myself, that what I was doing was nothing more than carny tricks."

"And the dreams, especially of your mother?"

He let out a long breath and turned onto his back. Staring at the ceiling he lay there quietly until he finally answered. "I've suppressed a lot of stuff", he admitted, sounding embarrassed. "My mother's death was – painful. I think that now, with us together and especially about to become parents, I feel", he grimaced slightly, looking decidedly uncomfortable – "I feel able to deal with some of that and it's coming back to me. I lost my mother for a long time – and I mean to more than death. I – put her out of my life. Now I guess – I'm ready to remember her. I think the dreams were telling me that I needed to remember her and imagining her forced me to do that."

"So, you're convinced you aren't really psychic?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

"Yes. I've always told you I'm not."

"I know, but – well, this seems just – I don't know. I've sometimes wondered if you really were and just denied it."

An amused Jane stared at her and then shook his head. "So you think I lied about not being a psychic?"

"I don't know", she said, sounding irritated. "I mean – there are lots of times I couldn't figure out how you knew what you knew."

"Lisbon, I've told you how I know. I observe things and I read people really well. You've gotten pretty good at doing those things yourself you know."

"Mmm – nothing like you."

"True" he told her with a bit of his old arrogance. She swatted him on the arm. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

"Because I can. Well, if it makes you feel better to think you're not psychic, then who am I to stop you. But Grace will continue to think you are."

"And you?" he asked, seriously.

"I don't know", she sighed. "Since you tell me you're not, I guess I'll believe you but you must know that there will be moments when I'll think you are psychic."

He leaned over and kissed her. "Okay, just as long as you don't expect me to hold séances or guess the winning lottery number."

"I won't", she agreed. She then snuggled back into him, determined to enjoy the day with her husband.

He lay there quietly, loving being able to hold this woman whom he loved more than life itself. He would have to retrieve his box of old photos and show her some of his mother – and some of him when he was little. He laughed softly at that, knowing how much she'd love to look at his baby pictures.

He felt relieved that he'd resolved for himself the issue of whether or not he truly was psychic. Everything that had happened, especially the dreams, had confused him and made him wonder. But he wasn't psychic – that he knew, had known for a long time. He just was very good at figuring things out.

In the moments just before he fell into a deep and healing sleep, a thought came unbidden to his mind. A voice asked him gently if maybe – just maybe – his mother – and Grace could possibly be right.

And next …. baby Jane appears