fighting in only your army (frontlines, don't you ignore me)

by magnetichearts

jane, lisbon, and the moments in-between

if you wanted to know how long i've been working on this, i originally had it tilted as something else and changed it when she released you're losing me for the first time after the new jersey shows. so yeah. it's been done for months and months i just haven't managed to work up the courage to post it yet.

this is basically just a missing moments fic with stuff i wish i had gotten to see at various points throughout the show. it's entirely self-indulgent and just for fun to just relax and enjoy. everything is canon compliant (in terms of major plot points) so nothing should shock you. i'm just a perfectionist so i really wanted to get this right

huge thanks to both rose and kiara for being the best betas ever and putting up with my endless freakouts and questions about wouldn't be nearly as good without you 💙

---

For a detective, it's honestly a little embarrassing how long it takes Lisbon to notice something is different.

It's a standard day at the CBI headquarters when she steps out of her office for a moment to grab some coffee, glancing around the bullpen.

Rigsby and Cho are huddled over Cho's desk, pouring over some files from an old case they had just finished wrapping up. They were settling into the limbo between cases, where it was mostly wrapping up paperwork and finalizing the arrest details of the case, and Lisbon's shoulders already ached at the thought of all the long nights in the office she was about to spend.

Van Pelt is clicking away at her computer, brow furrowed in concentration, and Jane, as always, was nowhere to be found. The case they had caught a few days ago hadn't been too bad—a rather boring mix of petty revenge and jilted ex-lovers—and he hadn't been seen since they returned to the CBI from Santa Clarita.

Lisbon heads back into her office, mentally fortifying herself for the long night ahead, and as she shuts the door behind her she catches a flash of Jane's blond hair around the corner.

Well, at least he would be here as late as she was. That was the one thing she could count on, even if it was also heartbreakingly sad.

When she next looks up from her desk, it's late, the sun having long since set, and her eyes are watering, exhaustion settling into her bones. She rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands and attempts to look at the paper again, but to no avail. The words blur before her, and she knows she's going to need help to get through the rest of this.

Sighing, Lisbon glances at the last dregs of her coffee and pushes herself up out of her chair, grabbing her mug and heading to the kitchenette.

Everyone else is long gone, and Jane isn't lying on his couch, so it's just her in the office. It's eerily quiet, and she moves quickly around the desks. Unsettled, even though she knows the CBI is safe.

At least, the CBI is supposed to be safe.

Ever since O'Laughlin, she'd been on edge. Glancing over her shoulder and second-guessing her judgment. She hadn't seen anything wrong with him, and she didn't know how. She was a seasoned agent, a cop for nearly two decades, and she couldn't spot a killer standing five feet away from her? How was her team supposed to trust her? How was she supposed to keep any of them safe, if she had failed them so badly?

(how was she supposed to keep jane safe?)

That was her job. Lisbon was supposed to take care of them, look after them, and she couldn't handle it if any of them got hurt. She would never forgive herself. She would take the bullet over any of them, any day of the week.

She shuffles into the kitchen, her thoughts dark and stormy, and pours herself a fresh mug of coffee. Taking a sip, she recoils. It's the liquid from the burnt, cold bottom of the pot, but she sighs, resigning herself to it. It's nearly 11pm; there's no way she's going to find anything better now, and she doesn't have the energy to make a whole new pot. When she reaches for a sugar packet, though, they're empty. She grumbles, opening the cabinet below the counter and ducking down to grab a new box. They're in the back of the cabinet, and she sticks her head in, searching for it.

"Dissatisfied with the coffee selections, Lisbon?"

Lisbon jerks her head up in shock, smacking her head against the top of the cabinet.

"Ow! Jane!" she scolds, rubbing the back of her head with her palm.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "What are you doing down there?"

"Trying to find some sugar to make this coffee more bearable," she grumbles.

"You could just have a nice cup of tea," Jane offers. Rather unhelpfully, she thinks. "Tea is always lovely, never needs much added to it to make it bearable."

Lisbon rolls her eyes, grabbing a fistful of sugar packets and easing herself out of the cabinet, rising to her feet. "Right, says you."

"I'll prove it to you. Why don't you let me make you a cup of tea?"

Shaking her head, her back still to him, Lisbon drops the sugar packets and brushes her hair out of her face. "You know I don't like tea."

"Well, you've hardly let me make you tea. I guarantee you you'll like mine."

Lisbon scoffs, ripping open a packet and pouring it into her coffee. "Right. I bet you say that to all the girls," she says as she grabs a stirrer.

"Not all the girls," Jane says, and she can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Just you."

Lisbon rolls her eyes as she turns to face him for the first time—and nearly drops the coffee she's holding.

Jane's standing in front of her, his jacket long since discarded and his sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets, hair windswept as always—which didn't even make sense, considering they were inside—but none of that was what shocked her.

He was wearing a pair of glasses she had never seen before, black frames perched on his nose, eyes soft and sharp all at the same time as they peer at her. Lisbon feels like her tongue has solidified in her mouth, settling like a boulder at the bottom of a lake.

"What—" she says, tripping over her own words in a way that was rather embarrassing for a woman of her age and maturity.

The glasses seem to make his eyes bluer in the dim light, molten like fire, and he grins at her. "Cat got your tongue, Lisbon? I have to admit, I didn't expect this to rattle you."

"I'm not rattled," she protests, but it sounds weak even to her ears. She can't stop looking at him, drinking in the sight of his face like she's never seen it before.

Jane was a handsome man, she knew that. Lisbon might be emotionally closed off, but she wasn't idiotic, and she was very aware of his presence. It was part of what made his whole act work. Both women and men were susceptible to that devastating smile of his, to his blindingly good looks, to his natural charisma and overwhelming charm that oozed out of him like second nature. Standing next to Jane was, at times, like standing next to the sun. She was worried if she looked at him for too long, she would suffer permanent damage.

After seven years, though, Lisbon had thought she'd built up enough of an immunity to everything that was Jane that she wouldn't be so easily affected by him anymore, no matter what he tried to pull on her.

She had been, in fact, very wrong. If the way she is staring at him now is any indication.

Jane ambles closer, and Lisbon sends a futile prayer to every saint she can recall out there that he can't sense how fast her heart is racing. Jane knew her better than she knew herself, sometimes.

"Hmm," he says, teasingly. He quirks an eyebrow. "You're blushing."

"It's hot in here," she says.

"Yes," he drawls. "A stifling sixty-two degrees."

Lisbon swallows as he steps next to her, reaching up and grabbing his blue cup from the counter. She wants to take a step back, put space between them so she can remember to breathe, but she's frozen to the floor.

The glasses add an edge of sharpness to his face, making his jawline stand out more, his mouth fuller, his hair softer. It was like she had been looking at him through a blurred lens and suddenly the dial had been turned up to eleven, everything sharpening all at once.

It was rather overwhelming, if she said so herself.

"What—what are you wearing?" she asks, and then kicks herself for how stupid the question is.

Jane's brow furrows in genuine confusion, before understanding dawns in his eyes, and he touches his finger to the glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, these." He winces, shaking his head. "I try not to wear them, honestly, but I've been getting a lot of headaches lately, and they help with eye fatigue."

"Oh," Lisbon says stupidly.

He nods. "Don't worry, I don't usually need them. I've just been looking at more case files than usual lately, reading a lot of type."

Jane reaches for her hand suddenly, and Lisbon has a fleeting image of his fingers curling around her own and him looking at her like she's the only thing in the world—before she realizes that he's prying her coffee mug out of her hands and dumping it down the sink. The fantasy shatters.

"Jane!" she says, irritated, but also grateful to have something bring her back to reality.

(god, she was losing her mind)

"Don't drink that swill, Lisbon," he says, washing the mug out quickly. "I'll make some tea for you."

Lisbon leans against the counter, crossing her arms as Jane pulls a tea bag down from the shelf above the counter. "I didn't ask you to do that, for the record."

"How are you supposed to be our fearless leader when you put that garbage in your body?" he says, nodding to the coffee pot.

Lisbon looks up at him and is suddenly reminded that Jane is actually taller than her. She's not usually aware of their height difference in such a visceral sense—so immediate and real—but it seems like she's discovering all sorts of things today.

"Careful, Jane," she warns, smirking. "Don't insult my tastes, or I'll get rid of all the tea in the building."

"You wouldn't do that," he says, dropping the tea bag in and pouring the boiling water over it.

"Try me."

Jane turns to look at her, eyes sharper than ever behind the frames of his glasses. Had his eyelashes always been so long, brushing against the lenses? Her heart pounds in her chest and she feels unsteady, like she's standing on the bow of a ship in a storm.

(she couldn't be attracted to jane. that was an impossibility, an exercise in futility. it wouldn't get her anywhere and it wouldn't result in anything. not only was she his literal boss, jane doesn't—he was never going to feel that way about her. lisbon wasn't even sure if he ever wanted to feel that way about another woman again, and she can't blame him. if she had been through what he had, she wasn't sure she would ever be able to look at another man for the rest of her life. wanting him isn't possible, and so she doesn't. she can't)

His lips curve into a smirk, one that sets her blood thrumming, pulse alight. Since when had he held this power over her? Had he cast a spell on her using a pair of fucking glasses?

"No," he murmurs, voice low and quiet even though they're the only ones in the room. "I know better than to get in your way when you set your mind to something."

"Don't lie to me. You always get in my way. You delight in it, in fact."

"When will you learn, Lisbon?" he says, sighing. "That sometimes, I might know of a better way to do things without being limited by the law?" He pulls the tea bag out of her mug and hands it to her, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "You just have to learn to trust me."

His eyes flicker with the intensity of a blue flame as he looks at her, and Lisbon knows he's not just talking about finding criminals or making tea.

(she doesn't quite know how to tell jane that she does trust him, more than she should and more than she ever expected to. she couldn't have stopped it if she tried, had always done her best to remind herself that he was a consultant, that he would do anything to find red john, that she couldn't rely on him…but against all odds, she still did. she still trusted him with her life, and she knew it would break her heart one day)

Lisbon hopes to god that none of this is written on her face. Instead, she doesn't say anything, simply taking the mug from him and taking a sip. It tastes smooth on her tongue, warming her up from the inside, and she closes her eyes for a second and sighs.

"Hmm. Not bad." It's not effusive praise, by any means, but the way Jane's eyes soften and he smiles makes it worthwhile.

"See?" he says, reaching for his own teacup. "Tea is always lovely."

"It's good. Don't think I'll be replacing it with coffee any time soon."

Jane rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose again, and Lisbon is struck with the sudden urge to run her fingertips along the cliffside of his jaw. To press her palm to his stubble and categorize every shade of blue in his eyes.

Her fingers tighten on her mug until her knuckles are white, and she reminds herself that she can't want that.

"I tried," he mutters.

Lisbon pushes off the counter and walks to the hallway, turning back to look at him. He looks like a painting like this, all blurred edges and chiaroscuro, the light turning his hair from blond to golden while shadows daub his face in shades of purple and blue. His glasses frame his eyes and they look like black holes, sucking in all the light, drawing her straight to his gaze. He looks like a fragile, valuable, breakable thing, suddenly, and it makes her soften, the barbs dying away on her tongue.

"Thank you for this, Jane," she says, lifting the mug up.

That, at least, brings a smile to his face. "Any time, Lisbon."

She moves to leave, before something stops her. Before she can stop herself, she says, "I like the glasses, by the way. You should wear them more often. They suit you."

The grin that splits his face into two is devastating, wreaking havoc on her senses. "I'll keep that in mind."

Lisbon swallows. "Well, you know. You'll need them, in your old age," she jokes, before ducking out into the hallway, ignoring his disgruntled "hey!"

When she gets into her office she shuts the door and sets the mug on her desk, dropping her head into her hands as she sits down. She closes her eyes, but whenever she does all she can see is Jane, wearing those glasses and looking at her like she's a puzzle he still can't quite put together the pieces of, his gaze intoxicating. If she could get drunk on it, she would.

"Fuck," Lisbon mutters.

This was not good at all.

---

Jane knew there was really no one else to blame for this situation, but he can't help but want to blame Lisbon just a little bit.

If she had just told him that an old criminal she had put away during her SFPD days was hell-bent on seeking revenge, then maybe he wouldn't be sitting here, arms and legs bound to a chair, stuck in some ramshackle hut in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, that didn't necessarily mean he had to go chasing after the man all alone, but in his defense, Jane certainly hadn't anticipated being a target either.

With the way Lisbon had been acting ever since he returned from his "breakdown", he wouldn't blame the criminal for thinking she hated Jane.

She'd become more closed off ever since he'd returned, more reserved. Smiles hadn't been as easy to pull from her as before, and he never let it show, but it hurt. Jane hadn't thought he was capable of being hurt like that—so full of constant grief—but somehow, this was a fresh, new ache he felt every day, and for this, he knew he was fully to blame.

But for some reason, this criminal had thought Jane would make good bait, and so he'd clobbered him over the head and dragged him off to a cabin that looked like it hadn't been lived in for the better part of a decade.

Which brings him to now, sitting here and half-hoping Lisbon doesn't come bursting through that door.

"Ugh!" The criminal—one Lucas Muller, arrested by Lisbon for possession and distribution—shoves the door shut and pulls his gun on Jane. "Where is she?"

Jane shrugs, or tries to, the motion restricted by his bindings. "I told you, kidnapping me isn't the best way to get Lisbon to do anything. She does what she wants to."

"Really?" Muller shoves the gun closer to Jane's face, and he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't race, just a little. God, he hates guns. "So maybe I just shoot you still, and then go find her."

Jane sighs. "All of this, Muller? For what?"

"That bitch put me away," he snarls. "And I wouldn't care so much about that, but she told my wife I was cheating on her. She left me, broke my heart, all because Teresa Lisbon decided to step in."

"Maybe you shouldn't have cheated on your wife."

Muller presses the gun to Jane's temple. "Shut up. I've been waiting fifteen years for my revenge, and I'm going to have it. And you're going to help me."

Jane frowns. "Lisbon's smarter than that. She's not going to come bursting in here because you took me. Besides, I'm just a consultant. You can't use me for leverage with the CBI, I hope you know that."

Muller smirks. "I don't care about them. I want her."

"So, what, then? I mean, I suppose I am the easiest target. Everyone else on Lisbon's team is armed and dangerous, and I've always had a distaste for pistols myself."

Muller stares at him, genuine confusion in his eyes, before he huffs a laugh. "You think I took you because you were easy?"

Jane tilts his head. "Yes. Well, I also made it easy by coming after you, I guess."

"I'm a military guy. Any one of you would have been easy to take." He smirks. "I picked you because it's obvious she cares about you the most."

This gives Jane pause. A year ago, he wouldn't have been surprised. He and Lisbon were partners, and it was only natural she should find herself attached to him. He cared about her too, a great deal, and using Lisbon would have been an effective strategy against him as well.

Now, though, Jane isn't as sure of that. She hardly looks at him, hardly acknowledges his presence sometimes, and even though he reminds himself every time that he deserves it, he can't help but feel saddened by it as well.

(and then there were the things he couldn't even admit to himself, the feelings that were simmering underneath the surface and trapped in his throat. feelings that were buried so deep even his subconscious couldn't pry them out of him. he didn't know if he could ever let them out. what would be the point, anyway?)

Lisbon deserves better than what he had given her, she would always deserve better than him. But the reality of the situation is that they are in this now, for better and for worse. Perhaps, though, she had finally realized that what was best for her was holding him at an arm's length, never close enough to touch, but never far enough to lose sight of.

Jane wishes his heart didn't ache so much at the thought of it.

"You're wrong," he says. "Maybe back then, but not now. She doesn't care for me like that anymore."

Muller scoffs. "Are you kidding me?"

Jane bites the inside of his cheek. In all honesty, he'd lost patience with this guy a long time ago, but this? This he doesn't want to talk about. "Yes. That's obvious," he says, voice clipped.

"You're insane," Muller says. "Aren't you supposed to notice things about people? That's your whole—" he waves the gun up and down Jane's body, "schtick, isn't it? You like, read people? You're telling me you can't tell how she feels?"

Jane glares at him. "I'm not an idiot. I know Lisbon cared for me—and then I hurt her, and she doesn't anymore. It was linear sequence of events. Rather like what happened with you and your wife, I assume," he sneers.

It's not right to rile up the man holding a gun to him right now, but what's between Lisbon and him is between them. The mess he made is entirely his to clean up, and he doesn't want any stranger telling him what is going on.

(jane doesn't even know what is going on, he only knows that he hurt her, and that he hurt her far deeper than he realized. that he was so blindsided by his need for revenge he didn't even see her. and the worst part of it all is that he knows he will do it again, knows it is inevitable that he will hurt her, because that is what he does. he hurts people. jane is a grenade, waiting to go off, and lisbon has planted herself firmly in the blast radius)

"You're right," Muller says, shocking him with the agreement. "I watched her, you know. I watched you both."

Jane's stomach twists. "What?"

"Don't feel too bad about not noticing me. I'm trained in surveillance."

"Right. Military."

"I watched her go home alone. Every night, eleven or twelve." Jane feels like throwing up. The thought of this man watching Lisbon—biding his time, figuring out how to hurt her—made bile sting in the back of his throat. "And every day, she would wake up and she'd come back to you and she would work with you. I watched the way she looked at you when you didn't notice. That's devotion." He waves the gun again. "My wife looked at me that way. She would do anything I asked her to."

"Again," Jane says, trying very carefully not to react to anything this crazy psychopath was saying, "it sounds like you messed up when you cheated."

Muller's jaw clenches, anger flashing across his face. "We both fucked it up, didn't we?"

Jane looks away from him. "Your situation is a little different than mine, maybe, but yes."

"How different?" Muller cocks his head. "We never deserved them. We both hurt the women we love without stupid actions."

Jane swallows. "I don't love Lisbon."

Muller raises an eyebrow, peering at Jane carefully.

(it's the truth. he can't love her, so he doesn't)

"Maybe not," he finally says, and Jane feels like he can breathe again, however little. "Maybe it's love, maybe you don't know what it is. But we're a lot more alike than you want to admit, buddy. My wife, she loved me too, even when I messed up. Until I messed up so badly she couldn't forgive me. And she would have, too, if I had just gotten a chance to talk to her." His face contorts in rage. "Teresa Lisbon took everything away from me, and so, I'm going to take everything away from her too."

Muller raises the gun and points it at Jane.

Jane fears death like anyone else does, just not for the reasons anyone else does. He doesn't care about preventing harm, he cares about losing his chance for revenge. He can't die here, in a shack, and fail at getting justice for Charlotte and Angela. It's the thing he lives for, the thing that keeps his blood flowing through his veins.

So that's the only reason he's scared.

(there is no other reason. none)

Before Jane can do or say anything to try and stop Muller, the door to the cabin kicks open, sending in a cloud of dust that makes him sneeze, and when the dust finally clears Lisbon is standing in front of him, like some avenging angel.

(jane does not even believe angels exist. but he believes in lisbon)

For half a second he thinks he's dreamed her up, standing there in all her glory, pointing her gun at Muller. Her hands never shake, not even a little.

"Drop it, Muller."

Muller turns to look at Lisbon, a grin spreading over his dry, cracked lips. "Ah. So glad the woman of the hour finally decided to join us."

"Let him go," Lisbon commands.

"Why?" Muller says, far too cavalierly for the situation. Some part of Jane has to admire his gusto, however begrudgingly. "I think an audience would be rather nice for what I've got planned."

"Drop. It. If you kill him, you'll never leave here alive." Lisbon's gaze turns sharp. "I can promise you that." Her voice is calm and steady, and Jane knows she means it, with everything she has.

Jane doesn't think she's ever been more beautiful.

Muller smirks. "I don't need to get out alive. You see, I have him." He points the barrel of the gun at Jane. "And you'll do anything I say as long as I'm pointing the gun at him."

Lisbon's jaw clenches, and her eyes flicker over, connecting with his for the first time in hours.

Jane wishes he could truly read minds, could truly see what she is thinking now, because her face is nothing but a mask. Her eyes are as cool and impassive as ever and he aches to know if she cares about him like he knows she once did, like he knows he doesn't deserve.

"Fine," she says. "Fine. I'll put down my gun. Just—don't hurt him."

"Lisbon, are—are you insane? Don't do that!"

"Shut up, Jane."

"I most certainly will not. Come on, Lisbon, you're better than this."

Lisbon glares at him. "Not the time."

"Would you listen to me, for once in your life? Don't put the gun down."

Lisbon's eyes flit over to his, and she shakes her head.

"I'm not doing anything," she says to Muller, raising her hands. She crouches slowly, dropping the gun onto the floor. "It's just me here." Her voice is calm, confident, and she stands back up, staring at Muller with a ferocity Jane's rarely seen on her face.

"Good." Muller smirks. "Now, we were actually having a lovely conversation before you barged in so rudely. Jane here was telling me all about how he broke your heart."

Lisbon's expression doesn't change even a little bit, but Jane knows her—knows her heartbeat and the cadence of her breathing and the way she looks at things—and her eyes change the slightest bit, becoming sharper.

"Really?"

Muller shrugs. "Maybe he didn't say it in so many words, but he did seem a little confused as to why I would take him. Said he messed up and hurt you."

Lisbon's gaze flickers to Jane, and he doesn't think his heart has ever beat so fast in his life while he waits for her to say something. "That's right."

"Did he break your heart?" Muller waves the gun between them. "Come closer, Lisbon. Answer me."

She steps closer carefully, never taking her eyes off the weapon in Muller's hand as she does. "No." She shakes her head. "He didn't break my heart."

"That's a shame," Muller says, his words dripping with fake sincerity. "I was hoping you would get a taste of what you did to me. Of course, I could just kill him."

He presses the barrel of the gun to Jane's temple, the steel cold against his skin, and it takes everything in him not to flinch.

"I wouldn't do that." Lisbon frowns. "Killing him wouldn't achieve any of your goals."

"You're wrong, Teresa. You deserve to hurt. You deserve to be in pain for all of the people you've hurt. And I can't think of a better way to do that than to hurt him."

"Don't. Hurt. Him." Lisbon clears her throat. "You can have me, instead."

"What?" Jane blurts out. "No, no, absolutely not."

"Jane—"

He interrupts her, turning to Muller. "Look, I really don't want to die, honestly, but if you take her, you're losing everything. If you kill me, nobody really cares. But if you kill her, the entire CBI will come after you." Jane clenches his jaw. "I'll come after you. And trust me, you don't want that."

Muller smirks. "You guys are a mess, aren't you?" He looks between them. "I could just kill you both. That would probably be the easiest."

"This isn't my fault, Muller," Lisbon says. "You know that. You're the one who ruined your life."

"Shut up!" He points the gun away from Jane, back at her again, and Jane hates it. He would rather have it trained on him, would rather know she is safe, however impossible that is. "You!" Muller jabs the gun in Lisbon's direction. "You ruined my life. You told my wife that I was cheating on her without even giving me a chance to explain."

"Explain what, Muller?" Lisbon says softly. There is pity in her eyes suddenly, something more gentle and delicate than he expected to see. "Explain that you cheated on her because you were working as a bouncer at a strip club, and helping run illegal drugs through the place?"

"I only did that because she wanted to start a family," he says, "and I couldn't get work anywhere else. Everything I did was for her. For us." He runs his hand through his hair, agitated. "I was so drunk, I didn't mean to cheat on her—she was my everything. My life."

"It doesn't matter if you cared about her," Lisbon says. "You still hurt her, and you need to apologize for that. Have you even said sorry?"

Jane watches her, watches as she steps closer. Lisbon's gaze flickers to him, and now there is anger in her expression along with pity.

"Just because you came back doesn't mean the hurt you caused was erased." She looks away from him. "Let Jane go. He didn't do anything." Lisbon swallows. "This is between you and me. You're angry at me. But you have to let Jane go if we're going to get anywhere. Please."

"I'm not leaving you, Lisbon," Jane says.

"Yes you are," she says, finally snapping and turning to him. "Do you really want it to end this way? I know you don't want to die here. And if you do, what about Red John? What about everything you've been working towards for years?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Because he cannot leave Lisbon here to die, he can't. But, at the same time, he cannot give up on searching for Red John either. But he cannot have both. He cannot lose her, just as much as he cannot have her.

"That's what I thought." Lisbon turns back to Muller. "Let him go. Now."

"I'm not leaving you!" Jane insists. "I don't—I can't leave you here."

"Jane," Lisbon says, exasperated and moving closer. "Let me go."

"Lisbon—"

"Both of you, shut up!" Muller snarls, clearly fed up with them. "Fine. If it'll quiet your bickering, I'll let him go." He points to the tape binding Jane. "Undo it."

Lisbon moves closer, slowly, bending down to rip the tape off of Jane's arm.

"When I say so," she says, whispering into his ear, "duck." And Jane hardly has time to process what she's said before she murmurs, "Now."

He ducks his head just as Lisbon sweeps a leg out and sends Muller crashing to the ground, the hand with his gun arcing through the space where Jane's head had just been, before Lisbon knees him as he goes down.

Muller groans and drops the gun. Jane can barely fathom how quickly she moves before she's picking the gun up from the ground just as Muller staggers to his feet.

"Don't. Move. An Inch." Lisbon says, her voice like steel. She points the gun at him. "On your knees, now."

Jane's so mesmerized by her that he half forgets she's not talking to him. It's so not the time, absolutely not, but he doesn't think she's ever been more striking than in his moment. He's half tempted to get on his knees in front of her, to beg for her forgiveness, and for just a touch of her affection.

Muller slowly drops to his knees, and Lisbon moves over to him, pulling handcuffs out of her pocket and fixing them around Muller's wrists.

She glances over at him. "What are you doing?"

"What?" he says blankly, still so caught up in…her, that he hadn't noticed his hand was free and he could get himself out of the chair. "Oh! Sorry." He rips the duct tape off his other arm and legs, finally standing for the first time in hours. "Got caught up in the situation."

Lisbon just gives him a look as she leads Muller out the door, where Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt are waiting.

"You came in alone, when you had backup the whole time?" Jane says, shocked.

She doesn't even look at him as she responds, passing Muller off to Cho. "I knew he wanted me, and I figured I had the element of surprise on my side, so I used it to my advantage. He was going to hurt both of us either way, so I needed to make him think I was giving up, and get close enough to disarm him. If it had really gotten bad, we would've had the team to save us."

Jane grins at her. "That's a rather excellent plan, Lisbon. I'm rubbing off on you."

Lisbon is quiet for a moment before she looks at him, her green eyes inscrutable. "I've learned my fair share of things from you, Jane."

His grin fades at the tone in her voice, and as she turns to leave, he grabs her wrist. "Lisbon, wait."

She looks back at him.

He drops her wrist, feeling like he's been branded, but clears his throat. "About—about what Muller said."

Lisbon looks away from him. "Please, Jane. I know he was just trying to rile me up."

"But he was right, wasn't he? About—about me hurting you. When I left."

"What do you think, Jane?" Lisbon shakes her head. "You know I called you hundreds of times. Do you think it was because I needed you on a case? Bertram and Wainwright kept asking me why you weren't responding to my calls, nearly threatened my job if I didn't go track you down, and I only kept it because Minelli reminded them that I was a huge reason we closed cases too."

Jane feels his stomach drop. He knows he'd hurt her when he left, and in that church. Having it all laid out in front of him was hard enough to hear, but to see it in her eyes like this—that was more than he could bear.

"It wasn't real, Lisbon," he says. "You know that."

"Well," she says, swallowing. "It was real to me, so forgive me if I can't quite get over it as easily as you."

"I wanted to call you," he blurts out. "I wanted to pick up the phone so badly every time I saw your name on my screen. I thought about it for months on end. And I only did it to convince Red John. And to keep you safe."

"I don't need your protection, Jane." She scoffs. "I'm the one keeping you safe. I'm the one protecting you." She blinks suddenly, and he realizes her eyes are bright with angry tears. "And instead, you do whatever you can to run away from me and into the arms of someone else."

"Lisbon, is this about—"

"This is about you not trusting me, Jane," she says, cutting him off. "We're supposed to be partners, tell each other everything, and you couldn't even trust me with this."

"Red John had to think it was real," he insists. "Lisbon, if he hadn't, the whole plan was a bust anyways."

"It was a bust the second he asked for my head in a box," she snaps. "And you know what, Jane? Part of me wishes you had given it to him, because then, at least, you would know who he is. Maybe then this would finally be over."

He feels a little sick at the thought. Red John had seen right through him, seen through to the one thing Jane could never give him, and asked for it.

(but what does it even matter? just because he couldn't kill lisbon doesn't mean he hadn't hurt her in other ways, and jane doesn't know how to not do that. he doesn't know how to give lisbon everything, no matter how desperately he wants to)

He has spent his entire life being selfish, taking and taking and taking, and he had found only a few occasions on which he ever wanted to give. But with Lisbon, it's the exact opposite. All he wants to do is give her the world, but he just can't help taking and taking from her.

Lisbon's expression changes, shifting from angry to something more painful, a mix of sadness and pity that turns his stomach.

"I wish you would stop pretending like you thought about me, Jane. You've proven more than once that that's not the case."

Before he can say anything else, she turns on her heel and walks away. But he doesn't miss the way her breath hitches, or how her hand comes up to swipe at her cheek as she leaves.

He wants to call after her and tell her she's wrong, that she's all he ever thinks about other than his vendetta, but he would be wrong, and he would be lying if he did that. Because even though it's true—even though moments with her are the closest he has ever felt to happiness in nearly a decade—it wouldn't be fair to her.

And it wouldn't really be true, either. He doesn't think of Lisbon's feelings when he acts, especially not about Red John, and he can't blame her for being angry at him for that. But it is as much a self-preservation tactic as anything else. He cannot let himself think about how she would feel, because then he thinks about her. And Jane does not like to think of Lisbon and Red John, other than trying to keep her away from him, because he cannot bear it if something were to truly happen to her.

Jane is selfish. He wants her close enough that he can keep her safe, but not close enough that she can be used against him. It's not fair to her, but it is what it is.

And yet, the understanding breaks his heart in a way he didn't think it could again.

The words, pitiful as they are, will never suffice, so Jane lets them dry up in his mouth as he watches Lisbon walk away from him.

---

Seeing him again is like seeing the sun for the first time.

Honestly, it's more overwhelming than that. Lisbon had been prepared to see his face again—as much as she could have prepared in the few days since Abbott had stormed into her office and found out where Jane had been hiding for the past two years—she had been fortifying herself against him, even though that was never something Lisbon had been good at.

And as always, she underestimates Jane.

The beard is a new—but not at all unwelcome—addition, and her fingers ache to trace his jawline, to press her palm against his cheek while he smiles that heart-stopping smile at her.

It's more than that, though. It's the way he smells of the sea and sunscreen as he folds her into his arms, it's the warmth coming from his body and the strength of his grip on her, bleeding through her skin, and it feels so good for a second that she's blinking back tears as he draws away.

She's heard his voice in her head, every single day, but hearing him speak now is another thing entirely.

(she wonders, for a split second, what would he taste like, if she leaned over and kissed him right now? tea, as she always suspected? or something different? would that be yet another thing that had changed?)

Lisbon shoves the thought out of her mind and tries to relish being in the here and now.

But of course, because Jane is Jane, he gets himself thrown in FBI detention. What's another three months, anyways?

It's not until he solves a case with a rather vicious and unseemly FBI programmer that she can pull out the socks she bought to give to him, and suddenly he's looking at her with so much tenderness in his eyes that it nearly takes her breath away.

There had been nights—far too many of them, in fact—where she had dreamed of this. It's something she really only lets herself think about in the quiet and the black of night, because somehow bringing it out into the daylight feels real, makes it solid in a way that it can never be.

Lisbon doesn't like to entertain herself with useless lines of thinking, and this is a futile one. There's no point in wanting Jane like that, because even if she did or didn't, it wasn't up to her, and he would never be able to want her the way she wanted him too.

Unfortunately, her heart has always had other plans, and absence only made it grow fonder.

(when she left chicago she cut it out of her like a sore, and when she left sacramento she did the same. like seppuku, but for the memories she made in those places. why is it she cannot exorcise jane in the same way?)

She half thinks she's dreaming now, the way he's looking at her like something out of one of those nights she does not talk about to anyone. Her heart flutters in her throat, pulse thrumming in her veins, and no matter how much she tells herself it doesn't mean anything, she still can't quite convince herself to calm down.

It takes everything in her not to drag him closer by the lapel of his jacket and kiss him until her head spins.

It goes on like this for a bit, these bouts of emotion and the want that she can never act on. Aches for him that are so sharp and so strong she swears she can taste them on her tongue. She settles into Austin the best she can, and takes the weekend to move into her new house. With Cho out of town for a wedding, Rigsby and Van Pelt in San Francisco, and her not being close enough with the rest of the team to ask for their help, she's relegated herself to moving into her space on her own.

That is, of course, until Jane shows up.

It's barely 7am when the knock sounds at her door, and Lisbon swings it open, squinting in the sunlight to see Jane, standing in front of her with two cups in hand.

"Lisbon!" he cries happily. "Good morning."

She frowns. "Jane, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see La Casa de Lisbon, obviously." Jane doesn't wait for her to invite him in before stepping through the door, handing her a cup. His fingers brush hers, sending a shiver down her spine that she ignores.

He takes a sip of his own cup, presumably tea, eyeing the interior with judgment. "It's not exactly homey, is it?"

Lisbon rolls her eyes, kicking the door shut behind her. "Considering I moved in a week ago, not exactly. I was going to do my unpacking today."

"Excellent." Jane sets his cup down on the side table and claps his hands together, turning to her with a devastating smile on his face. "Many hands make light work."

Lisbon stares at him as he pulls off his jacket, draping it over a chair and rolling his sleeves up. Her eyes drop to his forearms, and she briefly wonders what it would be like to turn his arm over and press her lips to the inside of his wrist, tasting his pulse, before his words catch up to her.

"You're—staying?"

Jane shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping closer to her.

"What you said," he murmurs quietly, looking at her with an intensity that's both familiar and new all at once, "On the plane? It stuck with me. You're right about me always acting without thinking about your life. I want to try and fix that." He grins at her sheepishly. "I thought I could help you move in, as a start?"

She stares at him for a second, almost in disbelief at his words. Lisbon has gotten used to this—has gotten used to Jane acting without thinking about her. She has spent too long soothing over her broken and bruised heart every time he lies to her, every time he hides and steals and takes.

What she has not gotten used to is Jane thinking of her. Of trying to help her. Of giving to her, and expecting nothing in return.

She doesn't know if this will last, but she can't turn it down either. That was the thing about missing him like a phantom limb for two years; Lisbon would take any moment she got with him, at her own expense.

(and in the end, she knows this will break her heart. she will do it anyways)

"You're crazy if you think helping me move in for one day is gonna make up for all of the stunts you've pulled over the past decade," Lisbon says, eyeing him.

Jane nods. "I know." He steps closer to her, blue eyes on fire as they peer at her, and she hopes to god that he can't see how badly she wants him. "But I have to start somewhere, right?"

Lisbon licks her lips, taking another sip of her coffee to ground herself. "That's true."

She watches him for another second, and he fidgets, eyes dropping from her gaze to the floor.

He's nervous.

It dawns on her wholly, like a tidal wave, and softens her as well. Suddenly, she wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. To reassure him that everything is going to be alright, that she's here and fine and forgives him. But she can't do that, because if she holds onto him now she's not sure she'll ever be able to let him go.

(she's also not sure if she forgives him, either. all she knows is that she doesn't know how to live without him)

"Okay," she says. Jane looks up at her, and she gives him a smile. "Yeah, Jane. Of course you can help me."

Jane grins, face splitting in two with the force of his smile, her heart skipping a beat like it always does when he smiles like that. "Fantastic. Where do you want me?"

Lisbon's grateful that he turns away to glance at the boxes surrounding them, so he can't see the violent blush that springs to her face at his words, despite him not meaning them in a suggestive manner at all.

In my bed, she thinks, before swallowing the words and willing her body to cool down. What was wrong with her? She hadn't been this discombobulated in Jane's presence for years.

Even after she realized the way she felt about him wasn't entirely platonic—

(and, okay, that was the understatement of the century, she had been careening headfirst into something more with jane ever since he shot a man for her—but she'd still always managed to keep those feelings at bay. she hardly acknowledged them, because she knew the second she took the lid off that jane would know something was different with her)

The feelings had only threatened to spill over when they were talking about the mistress of a serial killer, and even then, that was more about Jane lying to her than anything else. It had taken him leaving for six months, sleeping with another woman, telling Lisbon he loved her, and then taking it back, for her to realize she had so thoroughly lost her heart to him that there was hardly any hope of recovery.

Lisbon could handle most things—she could handle loving a man who would never love her back, and the loss of the career that meant more to her than her life, and the breaking apart of the closest thing she had to a family since she was twelve—but she couldn't handle Jane walking away from her because of something she had done. She didn't think she could survive driving him away, so the lid had stayed tightly shut.

But now, seeing him again, all of the feelings she had buried for so long were coming up to the surface. But all this exposure to such a high level of him, after nothing for so long, was more potent than she imagined, and it was wreaking havoc on her systems.

"Lisbon?" Jane's voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she blushes furiously once she realizes she's just been standing and staring, lost in her thoughts about him.

"Kitchen!" she blurts out, suddenly desperate to put some much-needed distance between her and Jane, to try and get her mind under control. "Go to the kitchen and start unpacking boxes."

"Shouldn't you be there to help me figure out where to put things?"

Lisbon flaps her hands, turning away from him. "I don't care! Just—start taking things out of boxes."

"Okay?" Jane says, clearly confused, but Lisbon disappears around the corner to her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. She closes her eyes, trying to compose herself.

This was fine. It was Jane. She was just not used to having him around, but she would build up that same immunity to him. Even if he was being kinder than she could have imagined, and had that beard that made her want to bury her hands in his hair and pull him down to her mouth, and was giving her that smile she had dreamed about for over 700 days…

She can pull herself together. She is Teresa Lisbon, and there is no way she is going to let Patrick Jane, of all people, throw her off like this.

Lisbon brushes her hair back and swings it up into a ponytail, before smoothing her hands down the front of her shirt and stepping back into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Jane was right about putting things away, and although Lisbon doesn't have many kitchen items—she's not exactly a gourmet chef—she is exceedingly particular with where everything goes.

Jane is rummaging through her box of appliances when she appears back in the kitchen. He removes her toaster and slides it across the counter, plugging it into the outlet.

"Hey." She places her hands on her hips. "I see you've made good progress," she notes, the box almost empty.

"Pretty easy," he answers, glancing down at the box, which had held her toaster, a blender, and a mini waffles maker. "You're a waffle girl, aren't you?" he says with a slow grin.

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Actually, pancakes, but it was a gift from Stan and I couldn't throw it out."

"Come on, Lisbon, you have to know waffles are better than pancakes, any day of the week."

"I'm not one for breakfast food, honestly," Lisbon says. "Even though I know you love your eggs."

Jane taps his temple. "Brain food, Lisbon." He frowns, looking at her. "You need to eat more. I'll take you for waffles one of these days."

Lisbon chuckles. "Alright, Jane."

"I mean it," he insists, and she looks at him. "You and me, and some waffles. I promise."

She looks at him, trying to detect if there is any part of him that is lying, but she can't quite find it. He seems sincere, but as much as Lisbon wants to trust him, wants to believe him, she doesn't know that she can quite yet.

Jane might be back now, but there were two years where she was waiting and waiting for him. Wondering if he was alright, or dead in the gaps between letters. There were days when she turned to him to say something and he wasn't there, nights when she dreamed of him in bloody smears, and it is not easy to forget that.

(he had been woven into every thread of her life, and his departure had ripped the stitches out, fraying thread, a ruined tapestry that she's only just managed to knit back together in some semblance of a picture)

Lisbon doesn't say any of this, just gives him a wan smile and turns back to the box.

"Well, I think that's everything in there." She points to the corner. "You can just toss it there."

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Those are all your appliances?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You don't have a tea kettle," Jane points out.

Lisbon's brow furrows. "I don't drink tea."

Jane shakes his head. "You need a tea kettle. Otherwise, how am I going to make tea for myself when I'm here?"

She laughs. "That's rather presumptuous of you, assuming you'll be over at my house enough to warrant a tea kettle."

Jane opens his mouth, and then shuts it, looking sheepish. "Right. No, I know. Sorry, Lisbon, I didn't mean to overstep."

Suddenly, his listening to her hurts. Jane was a lot—overbearing and emotional and intense—but at least he had never made her feel like he didn't want to be around her because of her. She knows she should want distance between them, for the sake of her sanity, but she is tired of the distance she and Jane have already suffered.

(she doesn't know what she wants from their relationship. she only knows that she cannot let go of him as much as she cannot hold onto him)

"I was just kidding, Jane." She steps closer to him, resting her palm on his arm. "Of course you can have a tea kettle here. I'll never use it, but if you want, I'll get one just for you."

Jane looks at her, and suddenly Lisbon is aware of how close they are. His eyes are bluer than she remembers—had she forgotten the precise shade of his eyes?—and full of something she doesn't quite understand, piercing into her soul.

Something charged passes between them, so potent Lisbon thinks she can taste it, before Jane chuckles and looks away, breaking the tension.

"You know how to make a guy feel special, Lisbon," he teases.

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, grateful that the moment passed without either of them doing something stupid that could wreck the very fragile ground their relationship rests on.

"Tell that to my brothers, won't you? They keep insisting I need to find someone." She steps away from Jane and grabs her box of silverware, dropping it on the counter and rooting through it as he takes the ones with her pots and pans. "Cabinet next to the oven," she commands, and he follows her instructions.

"So they're pushing you to date?" he asks, glancing over at her.

Lisbon blushes. "Yeah, well…" she says, trailing off.

She doesn't know what she and Jane are to each other anymore, but she does know that they don't really talk about their dating lives. To be fair, Jane's is nonexistent. But she's not much better, mostly relegating herself to one-night stands and the occasional drink with a relatively attractive colleague.

(it's hard to date when she compares every man to jane, and while he's worse than most of them in some ways, he's also better than all of them in most ways. the one thing jane wasn't was boring, and lisbon has never done well with boredom)

"I mean, it's easy to see why." Jane glances over at her. "They just want you to be happy."

Lisbon laughs. "Trust me, if you saw some of the guys they were offering to set me up with, you wouldn't believe that."

Jane grins, shutting the cabinet door and leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. Lisbon's breath catches a little with how at ease he looks here; the sunlight glancing through the window to thread in his hair, turning it from blond to golden.

"Not good enough for the exacting standards of Teresa Lisbon?"

"Yeah, if having exacting standards means no receding hairline with a steady source of income." She sighs, shaking her head as she turns to adjust the salt and pepper shakers behind her. "Apparently those are the men my brothers think would settle down with me."

"You should have exacting standards, though." Jane's voice is closer than she expected and she startles, turning around to find him standing just a few feet away, hands jammed in his pockets.

"What?" she says, a bit confused.

Jane shrugs. "I don't know what kind of men your brothers are setting you up with, but I know they're not good enough for you. You deserve better."

Lisbon stares at him, getting the vague feeling they are venturing into unforeseen territory with this conversation. But somehow, she wants to know what Jane thinks about all of this. She has spent so many years avoiding the topic, mostly out of respect for him, but now, she thinks, she deserves a little honesty.

(and maybe, some darker part of her wants to know whether he would be hurt if she dated another man. jane never even implied he would care before, but she wants to know if now, with all of the history that is behind them, he would)

"Well," she says, crossing her arms. "Tell me, then. What kind of guy should I date? How should I raise my standards to make sure I find him?"

"I'm not sure you could."

Lisbon blinks. "What?"

Jane sighs, looking at her. "If there was a man on this planet deserving of you, Lisbon, then he's yet to exist."

The sentiment is so unexpectedly sweet Lisbon finds herself stunned into silence, staring at Jane as his cheeks flush pink.

"Do you mean that?" she whispers.

Jane shrugs, looking away from her and running a hand through his hair.

"You're the best person I know, Lisbon. You can't just settle for any man out there."

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Her chest aches all of a sudden, the empty, gaping hole where her heart resided before she gave it to Jane pulsing throughout her body.

How can he say these things to her and then leave her? How can he tell her this and not love her? Sometimes she thinks her life would be easier if Jane moved on, got married, loved someone else, because at least then she would know he didn't love her.

Usually, Lisbon is sure he doesn't. But then he says things like this—tells her he loves her and then takes it back, pretending not to remember—and she is caught in the undertow of the riptide that is Patrick Jane once more.

(even after a decade, she still hasn't learned how to tread water)

"Well," Lisbon says, her voice clipped, trying not to betray her emotions, "it's nice you think of me that highly, Jane." She turns back to him, blinking back tears as she slams the drawer shut. "I'd like to find someone in my lifetime, though, so forgive me if your words aren't as comforting as you mean them to be."

And that was the thing—they were sweet, and comforting, but Lisbon doesn't want those words.

(what does she want to hear? she doesn't know)

"Wait, Lisbon," Jane says. "Lisbon, look at me." His voice is pleading, and because Lisbon has never been able to refuse Jane, not truly, she turns around to look at him. "What did I say?"

Lisbon throws her hands up in frustration. "It's nice you think about that, Jane, but did you ever think I might not want to spend the rest of my life alone?"

Jane blinks. "I mean—I guess I assumed that you would date when you wanted to and—"

She laughs bitterly, feeling a little unhinged all of a sudden, the emotions she has been bottling up for years coming to the forefront.

"Did it ever occur to you I might have wanted to date before? But then I met you, and you became my—my entire life." Lisbon looks away from him, trying not to cry, hoping she doesn't break down in front of him. "I gave up a decade of my life for you, Jane, and what do I have to show for it? Just me, in this house, alone?"

"I—"

She holds her hand up, stopping him from saying anything else.

"I don't regret it," she says quietly. "I need you to know that I never regretted a moment of what we did." She looks him in the eye, full of confidence, suddenly. "But I can't put my life on hold like that for you again, Jane. I know you only mean well by saying my standards should be high, and that no one deserves me, but I want to be wanted."

The words by you form a lump in her throat, and she swallows them down.

"I'm not getting any younger, Jane," she says quietly. "And I've been thinking about the future now, for the first time in a long time. I want something more. I'm tired of coming home to an empty house and going to sleep by myself." She glances up at him. "My brothers aren't picking out the best guys for me, that's for sure, but that doesn't mean they're not wrong."

Jane looks like she's just stabbed him.

"I never meant to say you couldn't—" he swallows, "date someone if you wanted to, Lisbon. I want you to do what you want to do. Whatever—whatever makes you happy."

She gives him a wry smile. "Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. I still don't know anybody here that's not a coworker."

Jane steps closer to her, close enough that she could reach out and touch him, holding his gaze with hers. "Whatever you decide, Lisbon, you know I'm on your side."

Her gaze meets his, and god, the way he is looking at her—she thinks she could drown in it. Want wells up in her body. She aches to touch his face, wondering what it would feel like if he bent and kissed her neck, the scrape of his beard against her skin, if he stepped forward and pressed her into the countertop with his hips, hands on her waist.

She's breathless at the mere thought of it.

How was she ever supposed to want anyone else, ever supposed to think about being with another man, when Jane was in her life? He was so overwhelming, so incredibly singular he eclipsed everything else, and she can't fathom how she's supposed to move on with her life while he's still in it. But she doesn't know how to cut him out of her, either.

(sometimes she thinks it would have been better if she realized that she was falling in love with him, and stopped herself before it got too bad, before she fell so irrevocably in love with him that she had no hope. but that wasn't possible, because she was in the middle of loving jane before she even knew she had begun, halfway in love with him before she realized it would destroy her)

He reaches out, touches her arm with his fingertips.

"I missed you," he says, quietly.

"I missed you too, Jane," she replies, but he's already shaking his head, frowning.

"Not like I missed you." He laughs, self-deprecatingly, shaking his head before looking at her again. "You kept me sane, while I was gone. My letters to you were all I had for a while, and they did more for me than you'll ever know."

Jane runs his fingertips down her arm, brushing them against her palm for the briefest of moments before his hand falls back to his side. She wishes more than anything he would take her hand in his.

"Thank you, Lisbon. For saving me even when you didn't know it."

Against all judgment, she steps forward and slides her arms around him, clutching him to her. He's stiff, wooden at first, but then he clutches her back, crushing her to him so tightly she doesn't think she can breathe for a second.

That's fine. She'll lose air to give Jane this one piece of comfort.

He buries his face in her hair, hands pulling her closer, however impossible that is.

"God," he breathes.

"I'm here," she says, and Jane nods into her shoulder. "I'm here, Jane. I'm not going anywhere."

She can hear his heart racing in his chest and closes her eyes, trying to take comfort in the fact that he is here and holding her like this. This is all Jane can give her, and it will have to be enough—it has to be enough.

(she knows, even as she thinks it, that it won't be. that she won't ever stop wanting more from him)

She can't even blame Jane for breaking her heart, because this time, she's the one who's doing the breaking.

---

Jane knows anger.

He's familiar with it—comes as naturally to him as breathing. He is full of rage constantly.

Or he was. After he murdered McAllister with his bare hands, the rage he had bottled up in his system for a decade had seeped out of him. His first month on the island, he had spent in a drunken stupor, desperate to feel something other than the numbness in his system once the anger was gone.

He had thought killing McAllister would have healed some part of him, or at least given him something to latch onto.

Instead, the exact opposite had happened. He felt more driftless than ever before, aimless and wandering. The lonely ache that had been present in his soul ever since Charlotte and Angela (and, if he's being truly honest with himself, even before, sometimes he wonders if he was born with the ache in his soul, an empty, gaping hole that was never to be filled) had widened, turning from a chasm into a canyon.

Eventually, the numbness itself also subsided, at least somewhat. It took some time, but writing letters to Lisbon was what mainly helped, reminding himself there was someone out there that cared about him, even if she shouldn't.

(he'll never tell her about the letters that he wrote her that he never sent. he can't show them to her anyways—he burned them the second he awoke from whatever trance had compelled him to write about her eyes and hair and how much he ached for her every day)

Jane used to know anger, but lately, he hasn't. Lately, it's been far worse than anger. Lately, he has been watching Lisbon slip away despite being right there, and that is a worse sensation than almost anything else.

(he forgot there is more than one way to lose someone)

He doesn't know why he thought this time would be any different, honestly. It never is when it comes to him, but somehow, he can't help but hope that it is.

But now he has to watch Lisbon go on dates with another man, and he can't even blame her. What does he have to offer her anyways? A lifetime of nightmares, of pain and guilt and a specter over his shoulder. Lisbon deserves better than that—better than him.

Did he honestly think that she would choose him again? She has chosen him—over her career, her family, her life, several times, and he has given her nothing in return. Jane has gotten complacent, has gotten too used to his position as the most important person in her life, and now, that will no longer be the case.

(she is the most important person in his)

He wanted to do better, wanted to offer whatever pieces of himself were left to her—but then Grace was taken and Risgby was shot and whatever family he had cobbled together for himself in the wake of the wreckage was nearly obliterated, and he retreated into himself again.

And now he has to watch her walk away, and it fills him with a sadness so gaping and huge that he can hardly breathe. It's suffocating, and briefly, he wonders if you can drown while standing on dry land.

Anger has not been in his life lately, so, perhaps, that's why he latches onto it the way he does when it appears. It is easier to feel anger than to think about losing her.

It had happened quicker than he thought possible.

It was a standard case by all means—nothing like the previous case of fake relationships and art thieves and bringing Lisbon close in a way she would never be in real life, just to imagine a world where she loves him—just a case of a wife murdered, and a husband the likely culprit. She had been the niece of a state senator, though, and so the FBI had been called in.

Jane hadn't gone along—it wasn't interesting enough for him—but he has never regretted it more when Fischer receives a call from Abbott. He can already tell something is wrong from the look on her face when she puts her phone away.

"What happened?" he says, leaping to his feet. "Is it Lisbon?"

The look on Kim's face changes, apprehensive. "Jane," she starts slowly, and he strides towards her. "Is she alright?" he demands, his stomach already turning. Lisbon was a federal agent, could protect herself better than he could ever protect her, but if anything happened to her and he wasn't there….he cannot go through that again.

"She's alive," Kim reassures him, but that doesn't do much to quell his anxiety, because just because she was alive doesn't mean she was fine.

"The suspect fought back when we tried to arrest him," she explains. "He attacked her when she was bringing him to the car. He roughed her up a little, but she and Cho managed to arrest him and throw him in the car. She's ok, she'll be fine."

Jane stares at Fischer, his mind awash with the possibilities. God, if Cho hadn't been there—

He stops that line of thinking before it can go too far, latching onto the knowledge that she is alive, that she will come back to him. He swallows. "Where is she?"

"The hospital said her injuries weren't too terrible, so she's on the first floor in the medical center," Kim explains, but Jane's already running to the stairs before she can finish her sentence.

He sprints down them, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and pushes through the doors of the medical center to see her back.

"Lisbon," he says.

She turns around, and when Jane sees her face—

He does not see red. There is nothing but black, rage washing over him so suddenly his knees nearly buckle. He takes a ragged breath, trying to focus enough to see her face.

All things considered, she got away ok. Her lip is split and her cheeks are cut, her neck yellowing, but other than that, she appears relatively unharmed.

And yet, Jane wants to strangle the man who hurt her with his bare hands, and if it were not for the fact that Lisbon thoroughly took care of the situation, he would have.

"Lisbon," he croaks, stepping forward.

She sighs, shaking her head. "I'm fine, Jane," she says, but her voice is raspy. His gaze drops to her neck, and he shakes, both with suppressed rage and fear.

(the anger is easy. the anger sharpens his focus, gives him a purpose other than collapsing at the thought that he might lose her, that she could be taken away from him and what was left of his life would cease to end.

it is different than when angela and charlotte died. he had no intention, initially, of living after he found red john and made him pay, but then he met lisbon. lisbon, his north star, his guiding light in the dark, and in the end, she was the only reason he did not take that gun and put a bullet in his head. she was the only thing left that made his life worth living, and to lose her now would be his death sentence)

Jane reaches out, brushes his fingers over her cheek, purple and blue, and she breathes in sharply.

"I'm sorry," he says, yanking it back, but she shakes her head, wincing regardless.

"It's fine," she rasps.

Jane looks at the medic standing behind them awkwardly. "How is she?" he demands.

The medic pushes some antiseptic and gauze along with ointment towards him. "She'll be fine after a few days. Thankfully, it's mostly surface level contusions." She winces at Lisbon sympathetically. "You might want to have someone take care of you for a bit, but once I apply this ointment and these bandages to your injuries, you should be cleared for duty in a couple of days."

"I can do that," Jane says.

"Jane," Lisbon hisses, scolding him even when she's injured, and the thought makes a smile, however bitter, twist at his lips.

The medic's eyes darts between them, but she decides she clearly doesn't want to get in the middle of whatever this is—Jane can't say he blames her—so she nods, leaving the ointment, bandages, and gauze on the table next to Lisbon, and walking out. "Just let the secretary know when you're leaving," she says softly, before walking out the door, "so we can process your paperwork."

Lisbon just nods, watching her leave, before turning back to Jane. She sighs. "I can do this myself, you don't need to—"

"Shh, Lisbon," he says, and wills his hands not to shake as he tears open the package of gauze. First, he dips the cotton ball into the antiseptic and applies it to the cut on her cheek.

"Sorry," he says, as she winces, but she shakes it off.

"Hardly the worst injury I've had on the job," she says. She raises her other hand—he notices her knuckles are bruised and bloody, and makes a mental note to attend to them as well—and taps her shoulder. "I've got a bullet wound, remember?"

His mouth tastes bitter. A bullet wound she sustained while helping him.

(jane will never forget that moment, being on the phone and wondering if he was going to lose her, wondering if she was lying dead and he wasn't there)

Wiping the blood off her face is reminding him of another time he thought she was dead—how many times are they going to lose each other, surely there has to be some limitation on such a thing—when there was a gory smile on her face and he thought she was gone.

(and even then, he couldn't tell her the truth, too wrapped in his need for revenge, compounded by the desire to keep her safe, to keep her alive, no matter the cost)

"You're a tough cookie, Lisbon," he says instead, trying to play it off casually, like those moments don't haunt his dreams.

The cotton ball is pink, and he moves it over to her lips, brushing it against the cut there. Her eyes flicker up to meet his, and suddenly, she is staring right into his eyes, and they are closer than they have ever been.

He should move away—should drop the cotton ball and let her fix herself up, should put some distance between them, especially now that she is dating another man and she's not his anymore—

(was she ever?)

—but he cannot. He cannot let her go. Jane is so tired of letting her go, and he knows he will have to, eventually. Even if he does not lose her to Pike, it will only be a matter of time until he loses her to another man, and so, he will take these moments with her however he can, even if they are fragments of what could be, if he were a different man, if he was a better man.

Her eyes, he notices, are not just green. There are flecks of blue in them, pale and scattered, but they are there, and suddenly he wants to know every inch of her with such a force it makes him dizzy. To kiss every inch of her body and discover exactly what parts of her skin would make her sigh his name, to explore her the same way an adventurer would, to burn every inch of her into his mind the way a cartographer would chart a new landmass.

(he thinks he would rather spend the rest of his life looking at lisbon than anything else)

He wants it so bad he can practically taste it, and it's only because she's dating another man he manages to tear his gaze away and focus on her injuries instead of the overwhelming desire to drag her into his arms.

"There," he says quietly, finally dropping the cotton ball onto the table. He can't look at her quite yet, too worried he'll give in anyways, and instead picks up the bandages, unwrapping one and taking her hand in his.

Lisbon's hands are calloused, rough but strong, and sure. They do not shake like his do.

"Thank you, Jane," she says quietly.

He wraps the bandage around her hand, shrugging. "It's the least I could do," he mutters, "after everything I've put you through for years. I'm sorry I didn't come with you."

She scoffs. "Jane, then you'd be the one injured, and I'd be sitting here patching you up. At least I'm a trained agent with a gun."

He would rather him get hurt any day of the week.

He doesn't say anything, though, simply ripping off a small piece of the tape and using it to fix the bandages before picking up her left hand. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

She shrugs. "Occupational hazard."

Jane scoffs. "You should care more about your well-being."

"I do," Lisbon insists, pulling her hand from his grasp, taking the bandage from his, and the movement jerks his gaze back to hers. "I care about making it through the day alive, Jane, but I also accepted the risk that I might die doing this job a long time ago, before I ever met you." She smirks. "I had a life before you, you know."

"You know I don't like to think about that, Lisbon," he jokes, even if it's true. "Still, you have to take care of yourself. What would your brothers say if you got shot on the job? What about Rigsby and Van Pelt? Maddie needs her godmother."

Lisbon watches him, tilting her head to the side as Jane unscrews the cap of the ointment. She bares her neck, and Jane has the urge to lean forward and press his lips gently to the spots where the bruising is starting to develop, just biting back the desire by rubbing the ointment into her skin. "That's it?" she asks, her brow raised.

"Well, Cho wouldn't be very emotional about it, but it would devastate him too," Jane adds. His fingers smooth over her neck, and he can feel the way her pulse jackhammers underneath his touch. "And I'm sure Pike would be rather upset."

Lisbon scoffs, and then winces, clearly regretting putting the strain on her throat. "I mean, I've only known him for a few weeks. I don't think he would be that devastated."

Privately, Jane thinks differently. If she had died shortly after they met, it would have impacted him. He hadn't realized it at the time, too caught up in his need for revenge and still buried in a well of grief to truly understand what was going on, but if he had lost Lisbon then, it would have hurt him. Surely not as badly as now, but it would have. That was just who she was, the kind of impact she had on one's life. Jane cannot even blame Pike for falling head over heels for her at first sight—personally, he's shocked more men hadn't.

"Agree to disagree," he says quietly. He picks up the butterfly bandage, opening it up and fixing it over the cut on her cheek, but she stops him pulling away, catching his wrist with her hand.

Jane freezes, trapped by her gaze, feeling like a butterfly pinned to a paper with the weight of her eyes on him.

Her thumb brushes the inside of his wrist, her touch zapping through his pulse like lightning through a grounding rod. "What about you?" she asks.

"What about me?" he says, trying to play dumb and stall for time, because he does not know if he can answer the question she is asking.

(if she died, he would follow her. there would be nothing left for him, nothing to keep him on this planet. he lived for his wife and daughter, and then he lived for his revenge, and now, he lives for lisbon. he can handle her not loving him back, even if it tears him in two, but he cannot live in a world where she does not exist)

Lisbon doesn't say anything, just looking at him, questions in her eyes. Questions he cannot answer.

"Right," she says. She looks away from him, sighing. "I'm alright, Jane. I think you can leave now. I can take it from here."

"What about getting home?" he says, trying to prevent her from pushing him out the door. "Are you going to be fine?"

"I'm a big girl, Jane," she says. "I can take care of myself."

I know that, he wants to tell her. Lisbon was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the thing was that she shouldn't have to. He wants to do that for her, wants to drape his jacket over her and hold her hand while they walk through snowy sidewalks and make her meals and wrap her in his arms and bury her in his bed and keep her there for a week, at least.

He wants so much from her, and he knows he does not deserve any of it. That doesn't stop him.

"What if you have a concussion? You should have someone stay with you tonight."

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Thanks, Mom, but the doctors checked me out, they said I'm fine."

"Doctors," he scoffs. "Who trusts them?"

"The vast majority of people, actually," she points out, finally hopping down from the table where she's been sitting, reaching to grab her jacket and shrug it on. She winces, and Jane touches her arm, turning her to him. Now that she's standing, he can see it fully, bandages on both her hands, her lip still bleeding slightly, a bandage on her cheek, and worst of all, the bruising still on her neck, shiny with ointment, but still present, turning from yellow to purple, marring her beautiful, pale skin.

He reaches out, brushing his fingers over the bruises again, tracing the cord of muscle running along the line of her neck like he has dreamed of for years, although, he confesses, in his dreams, the situation was rather different.

"You should have put a bullet into him," he says fiercely.

Lisbon frowns. "Some of us don't like to take justice into our own hands."

"I don't care," he murmurs. The worst part is, he means it. Now that he has committed murder and gotten away with it, he knows he would do it again to protect Lisbon, if necessary.

He'd killed once to protect her. He would do it again without hesitation.

"If I was there, he would be dead."

"Then I'm glad you weren't," she says, her eyes flashing with anger. "Do you think I want to see you carted off in handcuffs in front of me? Again?"

"He put his hands on you," he fires back.

"And he'll rot in jail for that," Lisbon says, her green eyes fierce on him, like a jungle cat. "But you cannot do something stupid if a suspect threatens me. I won't invite you out into the field anymore."

"Abbott won't let you keep me off of cases."

"I'll handcuff you to the desk in here if I have to," Lisbon says. She shakes her head. "You are not getting yourself thrown in jail in some misguided attempt at heroism for me."

"I meant it when I said I would always try to save you." He couldn't live with himself if something happened to her and he could prevent it, couldn't bear it if she was taken from him one day and he could have done something about it. "I would do anything to save you."

It goes deeper than that. If it was his life versus Lisbon's, he would trade it in a heartbeat.

Lisbon scoffs, looking at him. "You always talk about what you would do to save me, but do you ever stop to think about how I would feel?"

Jane doesn't know what to say to that. Lisbon sighs, looking at him with eyes so hauntingly empty he feels a shiver run down his spine. "Jane," she says. "If I don't get to treat my life like it's something to throw away, you don't get to either. Everyone you mentioned who would be upset if I died? They would all be devastated if you died too."

This is difficult for him to fathom, for more than one reason. For one, the simple answer is that Lisbon is a better person than Jane could ever hope to be. To lose her would be a tragedy, and to lose him seems like an inevitability.

Another reason is that it is no secret Jane is hard to love, whereas loving Lisbon is like second nature. He knows the team would be hurt if he was lost, but it would not be the splintering apart that it would be if Lisbon died.

No matter what, he cannot understand a world where losing him would be as awful as losing Lisbon.

He shakes his head. "You don't understand. It's not the same."

"I don't understand?" she sneers, her voice full of so much vitriol he is taken back suddenly. She releases his arm from her wrist and shoves him, suddenly, and it shocks him so much he lets himself stumble back. "You don't get to dictate how I would feel if you died."

"Lisbon—" he tries, but she's on a rampage now.

"I am sick and tired of you just deciding that your life is ok to give up. Your life matters to the people around you, and just because you don't value your life doesn't mean it doesn't matter to the people around you." Lisbon's eyes flash with anger. "Where do you get off making decisions about your worth? About how I would feel if I lost you? I've lost so many people in my life, and—" her voice breaks, and he realizes, with a start, that she's trying not to cry, "half of them chose to leave me. You chose to leave me."

"I—"

She shoves him again, softer this time. "You left me and all I had from you were some letters and I didn't think you were ever coming back. And now you're back and you're telling me that it doesn't matter if you throw your life away?"

"To save you, Lisbon!"

"That's not an option," she says, shaking her head. "You and I, we don't do that." She takes a deep breath, her gaze fixed on his. "We protect each other. We save each other. We are not trading each other's lives. I don't care what happens."

"What if that doesn't work out?" he says desperately.

"We figure it out together," she says. Lisbon offers him a smile, even as her face momentarily contorts in pain, the smile pulling at her cut lip. "We always figure it out together, Jane. You and I are a team. You're my partner. That is the most important thing in the world to me."

She places her hand on his arm, giving him a softer look now. "We will make it through this together."

He doesn't know what overcomes him—her kind words of the fact that Lisbon still believes in him, in them, against all odds, or the way she is looking at him or her hand on his arm—but he cannot stop himself from reaching for her, brushing his fingers over the cut on her cheek again before grazing his thumb over her split lip.

Her breath hitches underneath his touch.

He wants to kiss her so badly. He cannot remember ever wanting anything this much.

"I'm sorry he hurt you," he says, and he means it.

Her mouth twists into a sad smile. "I'm used to it," she says, and he thinks that might be what breaks his heart.

If he could, he would make it so she would never feel another second of pain. If Jane could, he would shield her from the world, but Lisbon would never let him. It's a futile dream, that of a young man, and neither of them are young, too battle hardened and with world-weary scars etched into their ribs, but he still wishes for it.

(jane has spent his entire life wanting. wanting more money and fame, and then wanting his revenge, and now, it seems, he will spend the rest of his life wanting lisbon)

Her eyes are clear when they look into his, and he realizes that even though he knows so much about Lisbon—her laugh and her smiles and every single one of the eighty-seven variations of annoyed she can get with him—he still wants to know more. He is greedy for her, and he wonders if he will ever be satiated.

"Lisbon, I—" he starts, and even he does not know what he is going to say, if he is going to ruin the tenuous bond they have between them, teetering between estranged and hopeful and something more—

But before he can say anything else, the door opens, and Lisbon jumps back, looking like she's been burned.

"Lisbon, you're—" Abbott starts to say, but then stops, raising his eyebrows at the two of them.

Lisbon clears her throat and grabs her jacket, already walking away from Jane, and it shouldn't hurt as much as it does that she refuses to even glance in his direction. "What's up, boss?"

"We need your statement about the suspect," he says, glancing at Jane, questions in his eyes.

Jane wishes he had the answers himself.

Lisbon nods. "I'll head up there."

"Feel better," Jane calls out, attempting to bring them back to normal—were they ever normal?—but Lisbon just ignores him, pushing through the door.

Abbott turns to him. "What did I interrupt?"

Jane shakes his head. "Nothing."

Abbott doesn't look like he believes him, but thankfully, he drops the topic. And the truth is, no matter how much Jane wishes it was different, it really was nothing. There was never anything between him and Lisbon, not because he didn't want her more than air or because she didn't care for him, but because he was a coward. He couldn't even tell her he loved her at a time when her life wasn't in peril, and now, he was going to lose her, and it would be exactly what he deserved.

It didn't matter how he felt anyways. That wasn't the problem.

He knows he loves her with everything he has left. The problem is, he doesn't think it'll ever be what she deserves.

---

Lisbon is used to forgiving Jane's indiscretions. Usually, it involved several months of anger management for her and numerous pastries from Marie's, but she always forgave him. No matter what happened between them, she's always managed to forgive him,

She'd told him the second she got involved with him—in any capacity—she knew it would end in disaster. And she's sure that they've hit their quota for disasters, several times over.

She's also used to having her heart broken by Jane. It was par for the course when it came to loving him, really. And she's loved him for far longer than she's ever allowed herself to feel.

This time, though, it hurts differently. Jane leaving her at Vega's funeral, pressing a kiss to her cheek—he smelled like tea and sweat and it shattered pieces of her she didn't know were capable of still breaking—and vanishing into the air was worse than anything, worse than all the other times.

Because this time, she didn't know why he was staying away.

Lisbon knew that he was struggling with losing her, with the fact that she willingly put herself into danger every single day. Lisbon had made her peace with dying far before Jane, and that hadn't changed for a second.

What she didn't understand was why he was avoiding her. If anything, it made sense that they should talk through this together, work through this together. She had thought getting into a relationship with him would at least qualify her to that, but apparently Jane still hadn't quite learned how to not do everything on his own.

He'd invited her along, but he'd still needed space. Couldn't be there, couldn't stay, and in the end, he'd done what Jane always did: ran.

In the end, she still hadn't been enough for him to come back. She'd had to trump up a failure to appear charge, and then they had caught a case, and that was the only reason he'd stayed.

It was ridiculous how much Jane could make her hurt sometimes.

They were wrapped up in a case with a fake psychic and far too many bodies, but there was nothing they could do until morning, and so she and Jane had retired to the Airstream, in silence, waiting until the morning came and they could return to the FBI office.

(when she closes her eyes, she can still see gabriel's body, hanging from the rafters)

She unlocks the door and steps in, Jane following her. She hadn't been invited over, but she'd come anyways, and she's glad he's not questioning her on it. Gabriel had been killed for parading himself as a fake psychic, and if there was anyone at risk, it was Jane. She might have been hurt, angry, and frustrated with him, but if he died—

She slams the brakes on that line of thinking, because it's too painful to even entertain.

Jane is silent as Lisbon strips off her jacket and toes her shoes off at the door, slipping her gun out of her holster and leaving it on the table before rubbing her palms against her eyes.

"Lisbon," he says quietly, and her heart clenches at the way he says her name. She keeps her eyes closed, pretending to have not heard him, because if she looks at him right now, she's not sure she can prevent herself from falling apart.

"Teresa."

Jane rarely uses her given name, and it softens her more than she ever wants to admit to him, even though she's sure he already knows.

Her hands fall from her face, and she turns to look at him. "Yes."

Jane steps forward, looking more unsure than he ever has in front of her. "Can we talk?" he asks quietly.

Something hard and brittle shatters in Lisbon.

"Now?" she sneers, her voice filled with bitterness, her eyes filled with tears. "Now you want to talk?"

Jane flinches, as if she's struck him with the pure venom in her voice. "Lisbon, I—"

"You were supposed to be different, Jane. You were supposed to talk to me, to tell me how you were feeling."

Lisbon turns away from him, blinking back the tears in her eyes, and she can hear him as he approaches. He touches her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I ran away."

"You left me behind, Jane." Lisbon wraps her arms around herself so she doesn't do something stupid, like turn around and throw herself into his arms. "I didn't know if you were coming back, and—"

"Lisbon," Jane says, turning her around. He places his fingers underneath her chin and tips her head up, so she's forced to look him in the eyes. "I might run away, but I promise, I will always come back to you."

She wants to believe him so bad her whole body aches with it, but she can't. "Not if you're dead, Jane."

She pulls herself out of his arms and goes to the kitchen, desperately hoping to fortify herself with some coffee. Her hands shake as she pulls her mug from the cabinet. "You could die. Knowing you, you'd get yourself into some situation where I can't—I can't save you, and you could die, and I would be here and I wouldn't know anything about what had happened to you."

"Lisbon," Jane says gently, and he takes the mug from her hands, pressing her against the counter as his hands settle on her shoulders. "Please, look at me."

She does, against her better judgment, and Jane presses a kiss to her temple. She closes her eyes, savoring the warmth that sparks through her at his touch, even if it makes her heart ache as well.

"Why did you leave, Jane?" Her voice wavers as she asks, despite her best efforts to be strong.

(it seems around jane, she can never be as strong as she needs to be. he lowers her defenses, pierces through her walls, and leaves her to pick up the wreckage)

He sighs. "You know why, Lisbon." He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingertips graze her earlobe, a touch she feels all the way down her spine, pooling in her stomach pleasantly.

She shakes her head, both in argument and to shake the haze Jane's touch always puts her in. It's hard to think when he's touching her like this, when he's looking at her with nothing but gentleness and love in his eyes.

"No, I don't." Lisbon reaches up and places her palm against his cheek, reveling in the feel of him underneath her. "We're a team. You need to talk to me about how you're feeling, otherwise this isn't going to work, Jane." She swallows roughly, keeping her eyes locked on his. "I want this to work," she confesses, and perhaps it is the first time she has ever said something like this to anyone—to him. "I want us to work, more than anything, but I can't do that unless you talk to me."

"I told you, Lisbon. I don't want to lose you, and seeing Vega there reminded me that it could be you, lying in that coffin. I can't—" his voice breaks, thumb skimming over her jaw, "I can't lose you."

"I'm not giving up my job, Jane."

He shakes his head. "I know. I would never ask you to, and even if you did, that wouldn't help us either." He gives her a sad, broken smile. "You would just end up resenting me for that. More than you already do, at least."

"I don't resent you."

Jane pushes himself away from her, chuckling wryly. "You don't?" He runs a hand through his hair, shoving the other hand in his pocket. He shrugs, in that careless, disaffected way that she hates, trying to pretend like it's not hurting him when she can clearly tell it is. "I would. I do."

Lisbon's brow furrows. "You do? What do you resent me for?"

"Not you," Jane corrects. "Me. I resent myself."

"For what?" she asks, completely bewildered.

"I took you from your life, uprooted everything you knew and I—I know I'm not an easy man, Lisbon." He gives her a twisted smile. "But I thought I was changing, especially after I told you how I felt. I thought I was becoming a better man. The kind you deserved." He looks away from her. "And then I almost lost you and I fell back into lying to you to keep you safe and the worst part is I'm not even sure I regret it."

"Jane," she breathes.

"I told you once I would do anything to save you, and I only mean that more now. I'd rather have you alive and furious at me than dead and happy." He drags his hand down his face. "I spent so long pretending I didn't love you, living with the fact that I couldn't have you, and now that I do, I can't let you go that easily. Every time you walk out that door, every time I can't see you, I think it might be the last time."

"I've been a cop the entire time we've known each other, Jane. I don't understand why this is—is affecting you so badly now."

Jane straightens up, steps forward and looks at her, eyes flashing with something jagged and twisted. "Because if something happened to you now, Lisbon, I would have nothing to live for. You're—you're everything. My whole world." He steps closer, and his eyes are full of pain and anger, but bright with tears too, and her whole body hurts with how badly she wants to soothe him. But short of quitting her job, which she can never do, she's not sure how to help him.

(it gives her the strangest sense of deja vu. jane, breaking to pieces in front of her, and lisbon, still not sure how to save him. it is like they always end up here, no matter what)

"Everyone around me dies," he chokes out. "My family, and then it was Wainwright, and Van Pelt and Rigsby were almost killed, then LaRoche. And now Vega. I thought it was Red John at first, but it's—it's me. I'm the reason people die. My mistakes, my actions, they get people killed."

"Patrick—" she starts, but he shakes his head, cutting her off and stepping forward, touching his hand to her cheek delicately, thumb scoring over her cheekbone.

"If something happened to you and I could have stopped it, if something happened to you and it was because of me, that would be it for me," Jane whispers. He shakes his head. "I love you more than I ever thought I could love again, but I don't know how to do this."

Lisbon wraps her hand around his wrist and pulls him to her. He resists at first, but she tugs again and he moves closer to her. "You do it with me," she insists, fiercely.

Jane looks at her, looking so much like that man she met a decade ago, scarred and broken and in so many pieces it makes every cell in her body ache. But she cannot lose him—she refuses to lose him. She loves him too much to accept any other possibility.

"I love you," she says, and the words have a soothing effect on him, tension melting away from his body. It is interesting how easy it is to utter the words, when they used to be nigh-impossible for her to say. But Jane deserves them more than anyone else she has ever known. After spending years and years keeping them in, she wants him to know that she loves him. She wants to give the words to him like a gift. She wants to give him the world.

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life," she says, her voice breaking for a second. She clears her throat. "I am not going to quit my job, and I am not going to lose you like this. We are going to work through this."

He looks at her helplessly. "What if we can't? I've been like this my entire life, Lisbon. I don't know how to just—just change."

She laces their fingers together, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. "You don't want to lose me either, Jane. Vega's death was not your fault. You have a guilt complex, Jane."

He laughs bitterly. "You don't say."

Lisbon shakes her head. "Listen to me. You cannot keep blaming yourself for everything that happens. You can't control the world. Vega, me, Abbott, even Risgby and Van Pelt and Cho, we make our own decisions. We chose this job before we ever knew you."

She takes a deep breath. "If I die, then it is no one's fault but the person who killed me. You did not kill your family, Jane. Red John is the only person who killed them. He is the one who took them away from you." She grips his hand tighter. "I know you don't believe me, but it's true. And you can't keep doing this. You can't keep running from me as a way to cope with your grief. You need to start letting me carry a little of it."

She blinks back tears. "It hurts me too, Jane. I can't keep watching you leave—it kills me. Everyone else in my life has left, and if I lost you—"

"I'm sorry," Jane says, gathering her into his arms and pressing her forehead against his chest. She wraps her arms around his waist and links her fingers together, breathing in his scent slowly, closing her eyes and counting his heartbeats until all she knows is him. "I'm so sorry, Lisbon." He presses a kiss to her hair.

She lets out a wet laugh. "We're a mess, aren't we?"

"I think the mess is mostly me," Jane says, holding her tighter.

(they were, though. two people so scared of losing each other they didn't know how to not drive each other away sometimes. all lisbon wants is to be able to love jane like a normal girl, but she wasn't a normal girl, and he wasn't a normal boy. it was why she loved him, but sometimes, she wonders if it's enough)

(it's not)

"Please just talk to me, Jane," she says. "I know it's hard, but I need you to try. Please."

Jane's hand slips into her hair and strokes down her back, fingers wrapping around the long strands. "Anything for you, Lisbon," he says, and this time, she knows he means it.

She lifts her head from his chest and looks up at him, and he tilts down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," she breathes.

She means it more than anything else she's ever said in her life. Words weren't enough, in any language, to describe how she felt about Jane. She doesn't think she would ever be her without him. He was such a part of her she had no hope of ever cutting him out—and she never wanted to.

Jane smiles down at her, gentle and soft, his eyes more tender than she can ever recall. "I know." He kisses her forehead again. "I don't deserve it even a little, but I am so grateful for it."

That isn't true, but she doesn't have the energy to fight with him on it. She hopes, one day, that Jane would see that he was deserving of it, of her love. She can't think of another person she would ever give it to in the same way.

He rests his forehead against hers, fingers skimming over her cheek. "Teresa," he murmurs, as if to remind himself she's still here. "God, I love you. You have no idea how much."

She closes her eyes, letting herself be held, the exhaustion of the day hitting her all at once.

She doesn't know if they'll be alright, after this. She doesn't think either of them will ever come out of it unscathed.

Lisbon doesn't know anything, really, except for the fact that she refuses to lose him, and for her, right now, that is enough.

It has to be.

---

Their wedding day ends in a hotel room.

Jane had wanted something more romantic, honestly, but the dilapidated cabin he had purchased and was planning on making a beautiful home wasn't where he wanted to bring Lisbon tonight.

Her house felt strange too—not because it wasn't welcoming, but because he didn't want her anywhere where another man had been; sue him. It was his wedding day, he could get a little possessive over his wife.

As if to remind himself this is real, and not just a dream, he looks over at her. At his wife.

He hasn't been a husband for twelve years, and yet, it's as though he never left. The fact that he has a wife is as natural to him as breathing.

Lisbon's not looking at him, staring up at the stars as the car glides smoothly, silently along the streets of Austin, bringing them to their honeymoon suite in the hotel. They were off to Greece for a month after this for their honeymoon, and then they would come back and settle back into their lives, changed, but still good, and things would go back to usual.

Well, not entirely.

His gaze drifts down to her stomach, and he can hardly breathe. He's going to be a father again.

When Angela had told him she was pregnant, he'd been nervous, mostly because he hadn't wanted to be the failure his father had been. And in the end, he'd ended up being even worse.

No. That wasn't fair. He'd loved his daughter with every piece of him—still loved her with everything. But she was right, when he hallucinated her, that he had to move on, stop blaming himself for what happened. He had another chance—how many people get another chance?

He wasn't going to be careless with this one.

"Hey," Jane says quietly.

Lisbon turns to look at him, smiling. "Hi."

He offers his hand out, palm up, and she slips her fingers into it, the metal of her rings warm against his skin.

Jane presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Lisbon gives him an incredulous look, shifting over in her seat to get closer to him. She smells like cinnamon and jasmine, and he breathes her in.

(he wants to freeze this moment and live in it forever. lisbon, who is his wife, looking at him with that look on her face, the mix of surprise and shock and love and frustration that only he can pull out of her)

"Are you kidding me?" She snorts. "Of course not." Lisbon shakes her head. "I honestly didn't even think you would ever marry again, let alone—" she flushes, pink spreading from her cheeks down to her neck, and he cannot wait to map the path it takes over her skin with his lips later tonight, "—with me."

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Really?" He skates his thumb over the back of her hand. "I would only ever get married again if it was you."

Lisbon flushes a deeper pink, smiling at him. "Really?"

Jane shrugs, pulling her even closer so her body presses against his. "You're the only person in the world I would trust enough to make a commitment to again," he murmurs, and he means it. He brushes back a strand of her hair, wondering if this is too sappy to say.

Fuck it. It's his wedding day, and if there's ever a day that Lisbon deserves to hear how much he loves her, it is today.

"The only person I trust with my heart again, really."

Her gaze softens, and she looks at him with so much tenderness that it takes his breath away. She leans in, pressing her mouth to his, and he savors it, kissing her back and trying to tell her how much he loves her without words.

(it is impossible to articulate. even if he searched for a thousand years, learnt every language in the universe, there could never be any words that describe what he feels about her. how he loves her)

Just as she pulls back from him, the car comes to a stop, and he looks out the window to see they've arrived at their hotel.

The driver opens the door, and Jane steps out, giving his hand to Lisbon to help her out of the car.

"Come on," he says, giving her a secretive grin, one she matches.

Checking in is simple and quick, their bags packed and already in their room for their flight in the morning, and he restrains the urge to pull her in for a kiss in the elevator, because he knows if he starts right now, he will not stop.

It's not until he unlocks the door to their hotel room and steps in that the urge to kiss her overtakes every bit of logic in his brain, but before he can do anything about it, Lisbon is turning around and pushing him up against the closed door, pressing her mouth to his with a desperation he's never felt from her before.

He drops the card on the floor, uncaring of where it falls, and pulls her closer to him, his brain going beautifully blank.

(jane is always thinking, always calculating, his brain never quiet for a moment. except for this. except for when he is with lisbon, when he is kissing lisbon, and everything else ceases to exist. the whole world melting away and his brain finally shutting off, everything that is not her gone)

Lisbon pulls away a second later, her cheeks flushed, and her voice is a little breathless when she says, "I love you."

Jane grins, even though he knows that to be one of the truest things in his life. "You told me."

She smiles, and he looks at her, truly looks at this amazing woman who chose him, of all people, to be in her life.

(after everything he has been through, this is more than he ever thought he deserved, a happier ending than he ever thought was possible)

"You look beautiful," he whispers. He runs his hands through her hair, linking his fingers behind her back. "Stunning. Ethereal. Gorgeous."

Lisbon rolls her eyes fondly, pulling away from him, although she keeps her fingers linked with his as she pulls him further into the room. "Alright, alright. We get it, you know words."

"I'm being honest," he laughs, toeing his shoes off. His fingers itch to slide the zipper of her dress down, to touch every inch of her he can, but he forces himself to go slow, to be patient. They have time for that.

For the first time, the thought does not panic him. They have time. So much time, and Jane does not intend to waste a second of it.

Lisbon pulls her own shoes off and sits down on the bed. "Thank you," she says, her eyes shining. "For doing all of this."

"Oh, this?" Jane grins at her, sinking to his knees in front of her and taking her hands in his. He presses them to his lips, savoring the way she shivers at his touch, the way her pupils dilate.

She nods, blushing again. "Yeah. For listening to me about the wedding, and getting us this room, and somehow getting Abbott to agree to take a whole month off for our honeymoon—"

He winks. "Please. That man practically put the paperwork in himself. I didn't even have to do more than ask."

"Still," she insists. "Thank you."

He reaches up and cups her jaw, pressing his thumb against her cheek. "I'm your husband," he says, savoring the words on his tongue. "I want to take care of you. Of our family."

He means for the words to be soothing, but something clouds her eyes, worry seeping in.

Jane does not want for her to feel a second of pain, not today, of all days, so he squeezes her hand. "Hey. What's wrong? Talk to me."

She breathes. "I know we never talked about it. Having kids," she clarifies. She swallows. "I sort of sprung it on you, but I—I want to make sure that you're alright with this. I don't want to make you feel as though I expect something of you I can't give."

"Lisbon." Jane pulls her gaze to his, looks at the doubts swimming in her eyes. He cannot blame her for having them, but he can ease them.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he says, slowly. "Not anymore."

She nods.

"It's not easy." He wets his lips. "I miss my daughter, every day, with every piece of me. She's always going to be a part of me. But I also know that she would hate me if I spent the rest of my life denying myself a chance at happiness. When I was with my family, when I was with Charlotte—it was the happiest I've ever been." He smiles at her. "The only time I've even come close to being that happy again is with you."

Lisbon gives him a tremulous smile. "You mean it?"

He nods. "I loved being a father. And then that was taken from me, and I thought I would never get the chance to do it again. I thought that I had lost it, forever." Lisbon leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, and he closes his eyes.

(the grief he carries will always be there. but with her, at his side, the weight is easier to bear. he is a different man, a changed man, a better man, because of her)

"You've given me everything," he whispers, and he cannot help a tear falling down his face at the confession. It is difficult to say just how much Lisbon has given back to him. She has been his absolution, his saving grace, his lighthouse in a storm.

And now, she is giving him this. Another chance at happiness, and he is taking it with both hands and holding it tight enough that it will never slip away.

She breathes out, ragged. "You're sure?"

"I am."

"What if—" she whispers, "what if we have a girl? I don't—"

"I'm not saying it would be simple," he interrupts her, because he does not even want to entertain that line of thinking even for a second. "Especially before our child is born. But I want a family with you. More than anything, I want a family with you. If we have a daughter, or son, or twins," he says, giving her a wink, and she smacks his shoulder. "It doesn't matter what it looks like as long as we get to do it together. All three of us, now."

Lisbon nods. "Thank you," she murmurs. She leans forward and kisses him gently, chastely with her mouth closed.

She pulls away a second later and rises to her feet, bringing him up with her. She steps forward and wraps her arms around his waist, and he hugs her back.

(he's not sure anything in the world beats being held by lisbon like this)

Her hands skim up his back and tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, and she pulls back, looking him in the eyes.

"I love you," she murmurs. He will never get tired of hearing those words.

Jane grins, moving his hands up her body to cup her jaw and tilt her mouth up to his. Just before his mouth touches hers, he whispers the words back, covering her answering smile with his own.

Every time he kisses her, it is like the first time, in that holding room in the airport, like every single step he had taken had led him to this moment, to her.

Lisbon sighs into his mouth, and then pushes his jackets off his shoulders, leaving it to crumple on the floor of the room.

"That was expensive, you know," he murmurs against her mouth, even as his fingers ghost over her shoulders, seeking the zipper on her dress.

"I don't care," she says, laughing when he moves his mouth from hers to nip at her jaw.

When he and Lisbon had first started dating, sleeping together hadn't been a given, like it normally was. He'd wanted her, of course, probably even longer than he realized he loved her, but he hadn't had any woman he cared about since his wife, and getting to the point of being physically intimate with someone else, even if it was Lisbon, was a challenge.

The first time, it had been beautiful while with her, but after, Jane had laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for two hours, trying not to feel like he had committed an unforgivable sin.

It took some time, moments stolen here and there, quiet intimacy in her bed and his, before he was able to lose himself in her like he wanted to, before going to bed with her was an act of love and not a violation of every vow he's ever made.

It had gotten better than he thought possible, after that. Jane had forgotten what it was like to be with someone you loved, and Lisbon was a vision in his bed, all flushed cheeks and tangled hair. He wanted her there for the rest of his days, and now he could have her.

When he had stopped holding himself back, Jane had found him nearly overwhelmed with want for her, insatiable for her taste and touch and sighs. Lisbon had reciprocated in kind, and there had been more than one night they'd spent tangled together, desperate for one another, for hours until the morning came.

But this time it is different. The need is still in him, of course, but he does not want to rush, wants to draw this out slowly, like a spool of thread unwinding, so that he can savor every moment.

They undress each other slowly—she takes a moment and laughs when she realizes he's wearing the socks she gave him on his arrival back to the country (and back to her life)—with him skimming his hands over every inch of skin revealed, before he presses her back into the bed and she falls on top of it.

He settles on top of her—slowly, because as much as he hates to admit it, he's not exactly a young man anymore—and looks at her.

She has thirty-six freckles, and her eyes are the same shade of green as the leaves during springtime, and his heart feels fit to burst at the sight of her.

Lisbon must feel the same way, because she reaches up and strokes his cheek, her eyes locking with his.

They just look at each other for a moment, before he bends down and presses his lips to the curve of her neck.

Lisbon sighs and curves into him, her body softer than he thought possible under his touch. He trails his mouth down it, mapping her skin and filing each sound she makes away in his memory.

Her hands are not idle either, and wherever they skim over him he feels like he is being burned, but in a good way, coming alive under her touch.

When Jane reaches her shoulder, he lingers for a second, the scar tissue from her bullet wound impossibly soft underneath his fingertips, like silk. He traces it, before leaning in and pressing his lips to it, reminding himself how she sustained this wound for him, how she took a bullet and even then came running to his side days later when he needed her.

(he will never stop needing her)

He loves her so much he thinks it might kill him. He's fine with that.

Jane kisses it, breathing the words into her skin, reverent.

She shakes underneath him as he makes his way down her body, pausing for a second at her stomach to skim his fingers over it, his hands shaking as he thinks about their child, underneath his hands and so small, here.

Lisbon does not do things in half-measures, and he knows she will love it, love their life, with the same ferocity that she has always possessed.

Lisbon's hand reaches down and touches his cheek, and he looks up at her. She gives him a smile. "I know."

Jane kisses her hip as an answer, before he presses his mouth to her thighs, feeling them tremble.

Her hands bury themselves in his hair as he pushes her legs apart, pressing fleeting kisses to the inside of her legs, shifting his mouth up, before slowly and surely taking her apart with the pressure of his tongue.

She gasps, gunshot, as he unravels her, and when she finally breaks underneath him, his name on her lips, he feels reborn.

He kisses her legs as she shakes, waiting for her to stop before moving back up her body. She turns her mouth and captures his lips with hers again, and he lets himself get lost in the sensation of kissing her.

In fact, he's so wrapped up in how it feels he doesn't notice she's pushing him back until she's already on top of him and his back is pressed against the soft sheets of the bed. His hands go to her hips to steady her, and when he looks up at her he's half certain that she's an angel.

She looks down at him and smiles. "Patrick Jane," she whispers. "My husband."

A thrill goes down his back at her words, at this link between them. Ever since he had met her, there has been a thread between them, a connection that could not be severed, no matter how hard either of them had tried, and now there is this. The proof that they belong to one another, that he is hers.

She raises his hand and kisses his palm, the ring she slipped on his finger hours before glinting in the light. "Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

Lisbon shrugs, her fingers skimming down his chest and then back up, tracing his body with her fingertips. "Loving me."

"Ah." Jane taps her hip with his fingers. "I meant what I said all those years ago, you know."

She gives him a confused look. "About loving you." He smiles at her. "It's impossible not to."

She blushes. "You know, you literally told me before that there was no accounting for taste when it came to Bosco loving me."

He rolls his eyes. "Please, Lisbon. Haven't you figured by now I said that because I was the one in that situation?" Honestly, if Jane could go back and smack his old self on the head for what he said to her sometimes, he would. "I was just trying to make sure you didn't see that I was jealous."

"Jealous?"

He nods, reaching up and twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "Yeah, jealous. Not because you loved him back, or anything, but because you trusted him in a way you didn't trust me." He shrugs. "I wanted that. I wanted you to trust me."

"Well," Lisbon says. "I trust you now. More than anyone else in the world." She blushes. "And I'm in love with you."

Jane grins, leaning up to brush his mouth against hers. "I win on both counts."

"It's not a competition," she laughs.

"Please. I think I'm entitled to gloat, considering how long I spent pining after you."

"Excuse me, are you forgetting that I practically begged you to say something for like, years?"

"Ok, but then you literally dated another man," he says, shaking his head.

Lisbon smacks his arm. "Yeah, to try and get over you."

Jane smirks. "That didn't work, clearly."

"Yeah, because someone broke into a plane and told me he loved me." She rolls her eyes. "I couldn't just leave you after that."

He smiles, skimming his fingers over her skin. "I'm glad you stayed."

Lisbon leans down, pressing her mouth against his cheek. "Always."

He shifts underneath her, the desire for her sparking in his chest again as her body moves above his. "Thank you for choosing me," he murmurs.

(he is still not sure he deserves it—will ever deserve it, but jane has always been selfish, and if she is going to choose him, then he is going to keep her in his life with him)

Lisbon shifts above him, hands pressing against his shoulders as her hips press against his, settling onto him. She rolls her hips against his, experimentally, and he gasps, forehead dropping to her shoulder. "There was no choice," she breathes.

Jane looks up at her, trying not to move until she's alright, even though he's barely holding himself back. "Really?" he manages.

Lisbon nods, leaning down to kiss him again, her hair forming a curtain around their faces, blocking them from the rest of the world. "Never," she breathes against his mouth, rocking slowly against him.

His hips meet hers, and everything else melts away as her nails scrape gently down his back, her skin flushing pale pink as she chases her release. "It was always going to be you."

Jane knows, looking at her like this, more beautiful than he can ever remember, that it was the same for him. It was always going to be Lisbon for him, if it was going to be anyone.

"Come on, Teresa," he whispers. "My wife," he breathes, and her nails scrape a little harsher against his back, hips jerking forward instinctively. "One more time for me, sweetheart."

She breaks above him just as he does, his bones turning into melted sugar as he shudders underneath her, gasping into her neck.

She recovers sooner than him, trailing her fingers up and down his back as he comes back to himself, pressing kisses along his collarbone until he feels like he remembers his name again.

"Wow," she whispers. "So that's why everyone's in such a rush to get married."

Jane laughs. "Indeed." He lifts his head up from her shoulder, smiling at her. "Great sex is an amazing motivator."

Lisbon smiles, kissing him again, fleeting and short. "I've had great sex. That was…different."

He nods. "Yes. I know what you mean."

Lisbon shifts off of him and falls to his side, breathing heavily. "I'll be right back," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek before heading to the bathroom.

Jane pushes himself off the bed and gathers their clothes into a pile in the corner, also picking up the discarded room card, a smile coming to his face as he remembers why he dropped it. Their flight is in the late afternoon tomorrow, so they can spend the morning in bed. And he plans on it.

Lisbon returns, and he takes a moment to admire her, wearing nothing but her cross and the rings he gave her. She smiles at him, gesturing for him to join her in bed. She pulls the covers back and climbs in, and he follows her. Jane wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his body, tangling her legs with his as he presses a kiss to her shoulder, and she sighs.

"What time do we have to leave tomorrow?" she asks.

"Not until 3," he murmurs.

"Good." She turns her head around and smiles at him, and he kisses her. "I don't think I want to get up early tomorrow."

Jane grins. "What if I kept you up all night?"

Lisbon snorts. "Ok, slow down. Neither of us are in college anymore."

"I never went to college, Lisbon."

She rolls her eyes. "Alright, fine. Neither of us are exactly young anymore." She reaches out and pats his cheek. "Plus, I just want to lay here with you for a moment."

Jane relents, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "That's acceptable." He presses his hand against her stomach, burying his face in the curve of her neck and breathing her in once more. "You're going to be a wonderful mother."

She smiles. "I'm excited."

"Me too," he says, which is perhaps the understatement of the century. Even though there is still so much grief in him, there is so much joy, too. Joy that Lisbon brings, that he knows their child will bring. He cannot wait to have it at his fingertips once more, to linger in the happiness. Already, it spreads throughout the room, like a physical thing, joy spreading to engulf them in its embrace.

(and in him, the joy finds its place, right at the center of it all)

He has her in his arms, and that alone is more than he ever thought he would be granted again.

Her eyes slip shut, clearly exhausted after their long day, and he kisses her eyelids, content to lay here and watch her fall asleep in his arms. He's tired himself, though, and he'll have so many more chances to watch her sleep.

So he shuts his eyes too, falling asleep wrapped up in her.