A/n Hello! Today is a big day because this is my 100th work (on AO3)!
Despite my current brainrot belonging to Chenford, I knew that I had to make my 100th fic Jisbon because they still own my heart.
Thank you if you've read any of my previous works, some of you may have even been here since the beginning, but also thank you for reading if you're new here!
If you've read the summary, it's no surprise the theme of this fic. It goes without saying that I am not a medical professional so although I have done my best to research this topic to get the medical facts right, they will most likely be inaccuracies.
Please let me know your thoughts, and I hope you like this x
/
Rushed into the World
He feels useless standing next to her bedside, his heart pounding as he watches her breathing heavily through the contractions. The room is a whirlwind of activity, yet it feels both surreal and intensely real at the same time. Nurses rush in and out, their faces a blur of concern and determination. The beeping of the monitors and the rustling of medical equipment creates a cacophony that grates on his already frayed nerves.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Lisbon's hand grips his tightly, her knuckles white. Her hair clings to her damp forehead, and her green eyes, usually so clear and confident, are now clouded with discomfort and uncertainty. Jane tries to offer soothing words, but his voice seems small and ineffectual against the enormity of what is happening. "It's too early." He kept saying to Cho down the phone like he was chanting it.
The private hospital room, meant to provide a sense of calm and comfort, is too small, too bright. The sterile smell mixed with the faint, sickly-sweet scent of antiseptic. Jane's eyes dart around, taking everything in from the machines tracking Lisbon's every heartbeat and contraction to the sterile white sheets that seem to mock the raw, human experience unfolding upon them.
Medical staff speak in quick, clipped tones, their jargon suddenly and surprisingly alien to Jane. He catches fragments like "dilation," "epidural," "monitor", but they feel distant, like echoes from another world. One nurse, noticing his anxiety, pauses to explain something, but her words are lost in the commotion. Jane nods mechanically, his focus never leaving Lisbon's face.
He's done this before with Angela, but it was nothing like this. Charlotte was late and they were doing all the tricks to bring her into this world and in the end Angela's water broke in the grocery store and Jane rushed her to the nearest hospital in the SUV he was driving at the time. Twelve hours later after a birth without a hint of trauma, he was holding his daughter in his arms.
The clock on the wall ticks with agonising slowness. Jane's mind races, filled with worry and anticipation. He wants to help, to make things easier for Lisbon, but he feels utterly powerless. The chaos around him is a stark contrast to the intense, quiet focus within her as she battles through each wave of pain, trying to ignore her own anxiety.
They knew the risks early on about having a geriatric pregnancy, but they have done everything they can to make things as smooth as possible, including in the birth plan. It was advised that Lisbon should have caesarean section to reduce various risks which was scheduled when she hit her thirty-eighth week of pregnancy – but they still have a month until that date.
He was at the remodel when Cho phoned. This is obvious by how his baggy, marked jeans have speckles of tile adhesive and he's wearing what could be described as a tunic, which is something he acquired during his time in South America. It's covered barely with a disposable plastic apron that he doesn't remember putting on. "You're almost there Teresa." The midwife soothes and a pale Lisbon nods minutely before she's pushing again.
Jane definitely broke numerous traffic laws to get here and amongst the agony, she looked glad to see him. He kissed the top of her head with some reassuring mutterings before the room was filled with the sound of her screams again. Even though the end result will be a positive one, hearing these noises come out of the mouth of the woman he loves is tough to listen to. "Just one more push for me." The midwife coaxes and Lisbon yells out loudly whilst praying that their son will be alright.
The room falls into an almost eerie silence as the final push ends, the air thick with tension and expectation. Jane holds his breath and watches worriedly as the medical team around them seems to move in slow motion, their faces a blend of focus and concern.
It is like time itself has suspended, each second stretching out unbearably. His mind full of a thousand fears. Was their baby alright? He searches the faces of the doctors and nurses, looking for any sign, any clue that everything is as it should be.
For a moment, the silence is absolute, broken only by the faint hum of the monitors and the rustling of surgical gowns. Jane can see the medical professionals working with quiet urgency, their hands moving deftly but with an intensity that belies the gravity of the moment.
Then, just as the silence becomes almost unbearable, it is shattered by the most beautiful sound in the world – a baby's first cry. It starts as a tiny wail, fragile and tentative, but quickly grows stronger, filling the room with a powerful, life-affirming noise.
He grins and releases a light, relieved chuckle, but as he turns to his wife a horrifying sound fills his ears. "Teresa? Can you hear me, Teresa?" All he can do is watch his partner turn white dramatically as her eyes flutter shut and her grip on his hand becomes nothing. "She's haemorrhaging. We need blood and a consult down here now."
"T-Teresa." He murmurs quickly turning numb as he is pulled back away from the bed.
"Sir, please, we need space to work." Jane feels a surge of frustration, his mind screaming to be at her side, to do something, anything, to help.
"What's happening? What's wrong?" It is then he sees the pool of blood between her legs.
The room erupts into controlled chaos, and Jane can barely process the scene unfolding in front of him. Lisbon's chest is thankfully rising and falling but not in its normal rhythm, but neither is his. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he watches the doctors administer treatments, their hands moving with practiced precision but faces tight with concentration.
Whilst rooted to the spot, in the background he sees the tiny, fragile form of his newborn being wheeled swiftly towards the NICU in what looks to be a plastic box, being accompanied by three medics as another four work on his partner. He feels a deep, gnawing helplessness, a sinking sensation in his stomach as it hits him that there is nothing that he can do to protect his child or the woman he loves. "Someone tell me what's going on, please!"
xxx
Earlier that day…
Jane sits on the edge of their bed, casually flipping through a decor magazine, his mind only half-engaged with the glossy images of stylish living rooms and perfectly arranged centrepieces. His eyes drift over the pages, but his real focus is on Lisbon, who is standing by the mirror, struggling to button her tight maternity pants. He watches her with a soft smile, admiring her resolve and grace even in these small, everyday challenges.
The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on her face, and for a moment, the ordinary scene feels profoundly special, but perhaps that's because every day feels special with her. Jane closes the magazine, setting it aside as he stands to help her, his hands gentle on hers as they tackle the stubborn button together. She smiles her thanks when he manages to succeed. "Did you decide which tiles you wanted?" He asks as he steps away. "I am going to the store this morning and then I'll start tiling this afternoon."
"Um…"
"Teresa." He groans, telling quickly by her sheepish expression and her guilty tone that she still doesn't know the answer.
"What's the rush?" She queries even though she already knows the answer.
"The rush is you go on vacation leave next week straight into maternity and I want this house to be ready for our son's arrival."
Lisbon reaches for her shirt draped over the small chair in the corner of their bedroom, her movements slow and deliberate. The soft fabric slips through her fingers as she lifts it, her thoughts momentarily drifting. "I liked the skinny slate-coloured ones." She offers up but there's a teasing glint to her eyes.
"You know those are for the kitchen."
"I do." As she begins to put on the shirt, threading her arms through the sleeves, she ponders all the changes they are about to face. The routine of getting ready for work feels both comforting and strange, and it will be very different when they become a family of three. "I think we should stick to the blue theme in the bathroom too."
"Even though you liked the green tiles?"
"Even though I liked the green tiles." She buttons the shirt over her round belly, each button a reminder of the life growing inside her, and she wonders how their lives will change, how she will balance work and family. "The ocean blue tiles were pretty."
"On all walls or just on one?"
"Like a feature wall?"
"Like a feature wall."
"I think on all." She decides and he nods, mentally bracing for what will be a long day of tiling.
xxx
Jane stands in the middle of a corridor with a tepid to-go cup of tea in his hand. He sighs, completely torn about which direction to head in. With his son in the NICU and his wife in the ICU it seems an impossible choice. Both are at least, thankfully, stable. "Jane." He turns to see Cho approaching, he doesn't appear his normal stoic self but sad. "How are they?"
"Erm…" He deliberates, unsure of how to answer this. "They're both sleeping." He says, knowing he should be relieved but still he's being eaten up by anxiety. "Lisbon is having a blood transfusion and they're monitoring her progress, but she hasn't woken once since the birth." And that was almost an hour ago. "Our son is in one of those plastic box things-"
"Incubator."
"Right." Of course. Usually, he would be about to recall such a fact. "They're keeping his body temperature just right and feeding him through tubes. Thankfully he's not having trouble breathing." He rattles off and then forces himself to take a breath. "Which way do I go Cho?"
"I don't know." Cho admits but then does suggest, "I can go to Lisbon, and you can be with little Peter."
Jane blinks at his friend on hearing the utterance of his son's name. "How did you know that's his name?"
"When Lisbon went into labour she was upset and panicked, and I heard her muttering some prayers under her breath for Peter."
"We like it because it's a strong name." Jane explains with the smallest of smiles. "Plus she is happy because of the religious connotations and it's a good tribute to my friend Pete who has played a big part in our story."
"Jane, go to him. I've got Lisbon."
"I know you do."
xxx
Earlier that day…
The private office in the FBI building is situated on a quiet, secure floor with restricted access. The room is spacious yet functional, with sleek, dark wood furniture contrasting with the neutral tones of the walls. A large, polished desk dominates the centre, stacked with neatly organized files and a high-end computer. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows provide a view of the city skyline, casting natural light onto the room's floor.
As the room remains quiet, with only the faint scratch of nib to paper, there's a sudden soft knock on the doorframe. "Hey boss." Lisbon greets Cho as she walks inside, the man taking a second to look up as he dates one of many forms he has to fill in on the daily, but when he does, he task is no longer important.
"Lisbon, you alright?" Cho asks, his usual calm demeanour tinged with concern as he sets his pen down and gets to his feet.
"I'm not feeling too good." Lisbon replies, her voice strained. "Would it be okay if I went home?"
Cho's eyes narrow slightly as he studies her. He has known Lisbon long enough to recognise when she is downplaying something, and the way she keeps shifting her weight tells him this is more than just typical pregnancy discomfort. "That's fine. Shall I get the medic?" He's been like a protective brother since learning of the pregnancy, making it his priority to keep her safe and not just because Jane may kill him if he doesn't.
"No medic. Baby is probably just lying in an awkward place."
"Are you good with driving? Or should I get Jane to come and get you?" An abrupt stabbing pain hits Lisbon in the gut, and she practically doubles over. "Lisbon?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine." She waves away his concern, but she does not look fine.
"Maybe you should sit down, take it easy for a minute." He suggests, his voice gentle but firm.
Lisbon nods, taking a few steps toward the chair in front of his desk. But as she moves, a sharp, sudden pain shoots through her abdomen, and she gasps, clutching her bump. Her face pales, and she instinctively reaches out for support, bracing herself against the edge of the desk. "Lisbon!" Cho is at her side in an instant, his characteristic steady composure now showing signs of alarm. "It's alright, I've got you."
Lisbon's breathing quickens, her eyes wide with shock as she looks at Cho. "No no no this can't be happening." She manages to say, her voice trembling with fear. "Kimball it's too early."
Cho's concern deepens as he realises what is happening. "Okay, we need to get you to the hospital. Now." He is already reaching for the phone on his desk, his other hand gently guiding Lisbon to sit down as he speaks. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Cho, I need a medic to my location and an ambulance because of a pregnant woman in labour."
In this moment, the professional detachment that usually defines their roles melts away, leaving only the raw, human concern of a friend watching someone he cares about in distress.
xxx
Lisbon slowly opens her eyes, the room around her coming into focus in a hazy blur. The first thing she notices is the sterile scent of the hospital, mingling with the faint hum of machines and the muffled sounds of distant footsteps. The lighting is dim, giving the room a gentle glow. It takes her a moment to remember where she is and why she feels so exhausted, her body heavy with a fusion of fatigue and residual pain.
As her vision clears, she turns her head slightly to see Jane sitting next to her bed. He is leaning forward in the chair, his usual playful expression replaced by one of deep concern and relief. His hand gently holds hers, his thumb softly stroking the back of it, around the canula there, as if reassuring himself that she is really here, awake and safe. "Hey." Jane says softly, his voice thick with emotion as he notices her waking. His blue eyes are tired, shadows beneath them betraying the restlessness he's experienced whilst waiting at her side, but there is a spark of warmth and love in them that makes her feel a little stronger.
"Hey." Lisbon manages to whisper back, her throat dry and her voice weak. She tries to sit up, but an acute pain in her abdomen makes her wince, and Jane quickly leans in to help her, adjusting the pillows behind her to make her more comfortable.
"Easy, Teresa." He murmurs, his tone gentle yet sincere. "You've been through a lot. Just take it slow."
She nods, the memories of what happened slowly flooding back – the unexpected labour, the fear and confusion, the rush to the hospital, and then the intense, traumatic birth. It all feels like a whirlwind, a terrifying blur of pain and worry. Her eyes well up with tears, both from the physical discomfort and the emotional toll. "Jane... Peter...?" She asks, her voice trembling as she searches his eyes for an answer, her heart pounding.
Jane squeezes her hand reassuringly, a delicate smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He's okay." He reveals, his voice filled with quiet joy. "A little early, and small at four pounds and seven ounces, but he's strong. The doctors are keeping him in the NICU for now, just to be sure, but they say he's doing well. You both are."
Lisbon lets out a shaky breath, the tension in her chest easing just a bit at his words. "I was so scared, Patrick." She admits, barely above a hush. "It all happened so fast... I didn't know if..." A tear slips down her cheek, and Jane quickly brushes it away with his thumb, his touch so tender.
"I know." He understands her anxieties because he lived through them too.
"Why did… Why did I pass out?"
Jane glances down at his lap, a sudden queasiness hitting him as he forces the words out. "Postpartum haemorrhage." He may not be a doctor or any sort of medical expert, but he can grasp how close he was to losing her. "They've done all the right things though." He assures and nods his head towards the bag of blood hanging from a stand on the other side of her bed, the tube feeding into the crease of her elbow. She looks up at it, the sight of blood making the truth scarier somehow, before she focusses back on her husband and his hand holding hers, but also the different fluid leading into the back of that hand.
"Two IVs can't be good."
"It's just some fluid to rehydrate you. You're going to be okay."
Lisbon closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the comfort of his words and his presence. Despite the lingering pain and the fear that still gnaws at the edges of her mind, she feels a profound sense of relief and gratitude. She isn't alone in this – Jane is here too. "Can I see him?" She asks after a minute or two, her voice still weak but filled with obvious grit.
"The doctor will want to check you over first."
"Can you go and get them?"
"I will. Just one more minute like this." He requests, tightening the grip on her hand and although Lisbon has a strong need to see her son for the first time, she can be patient for one more minute, if it provides some comfort for Jane, if it reminds him that she is still here.
xxx
A couple months ago…
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. Lisbon is on her side, her back pressed comfortably against Jane's chest, his arm draped protectively over her round baby bump. They have been lying like this for a while, savouring the peaceful quiet of the early morning, the only sounds being their steady breathing and the occasional bird chirping outside the window.
Jane's hand rests lightly on her belly, his fingers tracing gentle circles over the fabric of her baggy t-shirt. Every so often, he feels a tiny flutter beneath his hand, and his face lights up with that familiar, cheeky grin that Lisbon loves. "There he is again." Jane murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep but laced with wonder. "He's really active this morning."
Lisbon smiles with her own hand covering his. "He's always more active when you're around." It is moments like these that makes everything feel so real, so close.
Jane presses a tender kiss to the back of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "He's a smart kid already." He teases. "He knows who his favourite parent is."
Lisbon chuckles, rolling her eyes even though he can't see it. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that." Is her response, although there is no mistaking the love in her tone.
They fall into a comfortable silence again, simply enjoying each other's presence, until Lisbon glances at the clock on the nightstand and feels a small jolt of urgency. She has to be at work soon, and as much as she wants to stay like this all day, duty calls. "Jane." She begins gently, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "I really need to get up. I don't want to be late." He sighs dramatically, his hold on her tightening just a little as if to keep her there a moment longer. "Patrick…"
"Just one more minute like this."
Now it is her turn to sigh, but she does agree with a murmur of a, "Okay."
xxx
The NICU is quiet, save for the steady beeping of machines and the hushed whispers of nurses attending to their tiny patients. It is a world of controlled care and cautious hope, where time seems to slow, and every breath, every heartbeat, is a victory.
Lisbon is wheeled into the room, her body still weak and recovering from the difficult birth of her son. Two drip stands flank her, the IV lines feeding her body what is needed to regain her strength. The effects are gradual but noticeable – she feels more like herself with each passing minute, though still far from fully recovered. Despite the physical exhaustion, her heart races with anticipation and anxiety as she approaches the incubator where her son lays.
Jane walks beside her, his hand gripping one of the drip stands whilst she holds the other, a nurse doing the business of pushing her wheelchair. It's been a little precarious getting here, navigating the winding hospital corridors with her in this state, but they've made it. They come to a stop in front of the incubator, and Lisbon's breath catches in her throat.
There he is, their son, so small and delicate, lying in the clear plastic box with wires and tubes connected to his tiny body. His skin is a soft, almost translucent pink, and his chest rises and falls with each laboured breath. A blue, knitted hat covers his head, but Lisbon can still see the fine, dark hair that dusts his scalp. She was wondering whose genes were going to shine through on that front and it appears she's won, but maybe they'll curl, bounce as he walks just like his dad.
Teresa experiences a surge of emotion so powerful that it threatens to overwhelm her. Tears prickle at her eyes as she takes in the sight of her baby, her petite and fragile flesh and blood, with her heart aching with a love she has never known before.
This is her son, the life she carried inside her, now so vulnerable yet so precious. She wants to do nothing more than to scoop him up in her arms, to feel his warmth against her chest, to show him that she's here to protect him, to keep him safe. But she can't. Not yet.
She thinks about Charlotte then, the realisation that the man she loves must have experienced something similar with her, and although she thought she understood his loss before, now it's like she can feel it too. "Do you ever stop worrying about them?" Lisbon asks quietly, not daring to tear her gaze from the tiny boy as her hand goes to subconsciously fiddle with the cross around her neck.
"No." Jane admits and rests a loving hand on his wife's shoulder.
"He's beautiful." Lisbon whispers as she looks up at Jane. "So small, but… so perfect."
Jane nods, his own eyes glistening as he gazes down at their son. "He is." He agrees softly, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently. "He's a fighter, Teresa. Just like his mom."
Lisbon tries to smile at this, but her stare is fixed on her son, torn between the fierce desire to hold him and the understanding that he isn't ready for that yet. It has been explained that he needs time, that his little body is still learning how to function on its own, and that too much stimulation could overwhelm him. So, all she can do is sit and watch him, and love him from a distance. "I wish I could hold him."
Jane kneels down beside her, his hand sliding down to clasp hers. "I know." He says sympathetically. "As soon as he's ready to be held. We will be here."
Lisbon nods, though the ache in her chest remains. She reaches out carefully, her fingers trembling as she touches the side of the incubator, as close to a touch as she can give him for now. "Hi Peter." She murmurs, her voice full of love and longing. "We're here, and we both love you so much."
Peter stirs slightly, so slightly, a tiny movement that make her heart skip a beat. She doesn't know if he can hear her or sense her presence, but she hopes he can feel the love she is pouring out to him, the love that will always be there, unconditionally.
xxx
A decade later…
Lisbon steps through the front door, the scent of warm, homecooked food wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. Her shoulders sag with the weight of the day, but the aroma lifts her spirits almost immediately. The soft clink of a pot lid being set back down in the kitchen signals where her husband is, and the corners of her lips tug upwards. They may have been married for over ten years, but still the flame inside her burns as brightly as the day she said, 'I do'.
"Hey." Jane greets her with a welcoming smile, appearing in the doorway just as she slips off her jacket. His blue eyes sparkle, but there is something else there too – something she doesn't quite catch. A flicker of uncertainty, perhaps, but Lisbon is too caught up in the moment, the embrace of home.
"I'm so sorry I'm late again." She blurts apologetically, running a hand through her dark hair with a sigh. "Work's been crazy busy."
Jane waves it off with a casual gesture, brushing aside her apology. "It's fine, really. I know the drill. Everyone wants a piece of you during exam season." Lisbon left the FBI not long before Peter turned four, to work at Austin PD's Academy. She knew she didn't want to work in the field anymore but turning her back on law enforcement entirely felt impossible. "Dinner's almost ready."
His voice is gentle, easy as always, but as Lisbon approaches him for a hug, he holds her just a second too long, and something in his touch feels...off. She pulls back, a curve to her brow, as she tries to read him in the way that he's able to read her. It's not as effortless, he is the master after all, but there's a tension to his jaw that is clear. "What's wrong?"
He sighs and peers over his shoulder briefly through the doorway where their son is sitting at the kitchen table, doing his homework. "I had to pick him up just after lunch today."
"What? Why?" She panics, having the urge to storm in there and hold her son tight, without even knowing the reason.
"He pushed over another kid and… made him eat dirt." This is shocking. Their son, their Peter, is a good boy. Intelligent, kind, charming, with a glowing report card and a reading age beyond his years. He has never shown even a hint of violence. "I got a phone call from the school. They've given him a suspension. He can't go back until Monday."
"That's…" The words die off in her throat and any shred of joy left to her expression has been replaced by ire. "He can't-"
"I know." Jane interrupts holding his hands slightly out to try and get her to calm. "He won't talk to me though. He's completely shut off." Teresa's anger lessens at this and now worry is her overwhelming feeling. "He's only ten. The thought of him being bullied-"
"We don't know that's what it is." She now interjects, her voice back to being level because the last thing she wants is for her partner to spiral. "Let me try talking to him." Lisbon's chest tightens as she walks into the kitchen, Jane close behind her, his typical easy-going demeanour replaced with quiet concern.
The kitchen is a bright, airy space – mostly white, with splashes of blue in the details. The cabinets are a crisp, clean white, contrasting with the slate grey tiles that line the wall behind the stove. A set of pale blue curtains flutter slightly over the window, catching the evening breeze.
At the table, their son sits hunched over his homework, a worksheet in front of him. His mop of dark curls fall into his eyes, which are fixed on the paper, but there is a distance in his gaze, like he is more lost in his thoughts than in his schoolwork. His shoulders are tense, and he seems to be withdrawing into himself, a stark contrast to the usual bright energy that fills the room when he is around. "Peter." Lisbon calls softly, her voice laced with concern as she steps closer, but the boy doesn't look up, his pencil moving absently across the paper as he answers another sum.
Jane places a hand on her shoulder, his eyes shifting to the pair of matching items on the table next to the rocket-shaped pencil case. Lisbon too looks that way and sighs. It's his hearing aids, he's taken them out, so he really is trying to shut out the world.
Their son's deafness was the only negative knock-on from him being premature. They broke down when they found out, but now it's just a part of all their lives. He's adapted well and so have they. They barely even think about it now, it's only times like this that it's really highlighted. "Why doesn't he want to hear us?" Teresa questions and chews nervously on her bottom lip. "We're his parents."
"I don't know, but we are going to find out." Patrick decides and moves so he can get his son's attention with a wave. He tries to make it not look rude and hopes he can put across his concerned sentiments in his face and mannerisms as he signs while speaking, "Petey. Put your hearing aids in, your mother is talking to you."
They learnt American Sign Language as soon as they found out about Peter's disability, and although since they obtained technology that supports the hearing capabilities that he has they have had to use sign less, it still comes in useful. The boy huffs and puts down his pencil, giving himself a second to compose himself before he reaches for the devices to put back in his ears. What's very strange to the two adults is how he avoids eye contact with them whilst doing so.
Jane and Lisbon have no idea how many people they've questioned in the time they've known each other. It must be thousands thanks to their previous occupations… But this isn't an interrogation and nor do they want it to be. "Your dad has told me about school today." Lisbon begins. "That's not like you, being rough in that way." Her child is a sweet boy, everyone tells her that, which is probably why she's so shocked. "You know we don't condone any sort of violence."
"I'm sorry." Peter apologises with a pout and a slight wobble to his lip. "Did I hurt Jake? I didn't mean to."
"He'll be okay." Patrick reassures his son, but he is a little relieved that the young boy is showing guilt and regret.
"Peter, why did you do it? I thought Jake was your friend." Teresa questions, even more confused now that she has this additional detail of who the poor kid was. "You know you can talk to us about anything. We will listen."
Peter is so quiet that for a second, his parents don't think he's going to explain himself. He taps his fingers nervously on the tabletop with his blue eyes flickering from side to side as he thinks. The prolonged silence makes something fester within Jane's gut, something he hasn't experienced in a long time. Dread. "You don't… you don't condone violence?" But finally, the ten-year-old finds his voice, even if it is lowered. "Any sort."
"Any sort." Lisbon repeats back, before her tone softens. "I work in law enforcement remember, baby."
"You used to catch bad guys, and now you train people to catch bad guys." Peters bites his bottom lop before reluctantly asking, "Doesn't… killing someone make you a bad guy?"
"Of course. Why?"
"And running away when you've done something bad, can get you in trouble."
"Yes." Teresa has no idea why her son, her baby, is talking like this. She is now also experiencing that dread that's growing in Jane's stomach, but there's one big difference.
She doesn't know what's coming – whereas he does. "But some people don't get in trouble even if they kill someone."
Peter is back to not looking at his parents. He's focussing on scratching at a slight indentation in the wooden table with his nail, rubbing at the skin on the tip of his finger. Jane and Lisbon are being flooded with trepidation, which is clear when they share a glance, both frowning, both unsure how to continue this conversation.
Jane decides that it is him who is going to have to take the lead on this. If he is right in what he suspects, then this is all fault because they're his wrongs that his own son is now trying to rationalise in his young mind. He feels lightheaded as he takes a seat opposite Peter. There's a rushing sound in his ears and the feeling of suffocation makes it seem like he's being waterboarded. He knew that one day the questions would come, but it is way too soon. "Petey, look at me." He requests and the boy pauses his sullying of the table to meet his father's gaze. "What is it that you really want to ask? You don't have to be scared. We are nothing but honest in this house."
Peter hesitates and swallows down nothing, but then the three words leave his lips that his parents have been fearing hearing since the day he was born. "Who's Red John?"
/
A/n There may be room to continue this... but no promises! Thank you for reading.