Shadows of Grey Bars

Author's Notes: This is a tag for the episode The Greybar Hotel that just kept growing and, of course, took two weeks to finish. Sorry, I write slowly. It's six chapters total, I think. It begins at the end of the episode but before the very last scene where Cho tells Jane about Erica Flynn. I know the episode makes it appear that the Erica reference happens immediately, but that can't really be possible. Cho says the CIA "squeezed" Foster for information, then they had to research the names he provided to find the Erica connection, all of which must have taken a few days, at least. So let's suppose this story takes place before Erica's name is mentioned. And it ignores the subsequent episodes, since I wrote most of it before I saw them.

Shadows of Grey Bars
by halleycat77

Chapter One

The first thing Lisbon did when they got back to the FBI office was take a shower. It felt good to wash off the prison smell and get back into her own clothes. The minute she finished, they swept her off to give her statement, while her memory was fresh of everything Foster and his confederates had said and done. There was no telling what stray word might give a clue about the people they worked for. (If chimichangas could help crack a case, anything could.)

The debrief seemed to take forever, and when she finally escaped from the interview room, Jane was nowhere to be found. Anxiety tightened her chest all the way home, but she didn't quite realize how worried she was until she arrived in sight of her house and saw his car in the driveway. Then she was finally able to breathe.

When she closed the front door and turned, there he was, waiting for her. For once he was completely open, the sleepless nights and sheer terror of the afternoon plain to see in his face, his posture, the stricken look in his eyes. She dropped her bag and walked straight into his arms. He held her so tight it was hard to breathe but she didn't care. She needed to touch him more than she needed air.

They didn't stop touching all night, even when they went to the kitchen briefly for food before going back to bed. It didn't look like he had been to the house at all while she'd been gone; everything was exactly as they had left it four days ago. It felt like a lifetime.

Patrick finally went to sleep curled around her, and, lulled by his heartbeat, she slept too. He woke her to make love again in the dark hour before dawn, more slow and tender than their earlier desperate neediness, then just held her for a long time before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. Teresa, however, tired as she was, couldn't drift back off. She lay still in his arms, watching the windows slowly lighten with dawn, trying to get her mind around everything that had happened.

She had seen a man murdered right in front of her, and not been able to do a thing to stop it. She, a cop. As volatile as Cole Foster had seemed in the first moments of meeting him, she hadn't dreamed he'd pull out a gun and shoot somebody for no reason. They were on the run, it was insane. Rationally, she knew that with no warning and no weapon, there was nothing she could have done, but it still felt wrong. Cole and Marie had been so cold-blooded about it. Worse than cold-blooded, gleeful. Shocked and sickened, all she could do was stay with them and try to leave clues, in the faint hope that the FBI would find them. No, in the hope that Patrick would find her. And he had.

In those endless, too-brief moments after Foster's paranoia had turned on her, with three guns pointed at her, Lisbon knew she was about to die. Fleetingly, she thought how ridiculous it was that she had survived Red John, only to go out like this. Then all she could think was, we need more time. After everything she and Jane had been through, the enormously long road they had traveled to get to where they were now, they deserved more. More time, more happiness, more life. Together. Grief and anguish closed her throat, choking her.

Then she heard his voice, Patrick's beautiful voice, and her heart leaped, thinking for a moment that they were really safe, only to realize he was bluffing, trying to buy time. Such a totally Jane thing to do, facing down guns with smoke and mirrors. Well, a wallet and a mirror. She loved him so much in that moment, glad on the one hand that she got to see him one last time, that she could die looking into his eyes, and at the same time terrified that he would die too. And the way he had looked at her, the love and despair in his eyes...

In the next moment, the last possible moment, when the cavalry literally came over the hill, the surprise and relief were overwhelming. At first she felt physically sick, after the intense emotional rollercoaster of the last half hour, but that reaction passed after a few minutes. What stayed with her, haunted her, was the realization, no, the revelation, of what Patrick had done. It was her struggle to comprehend it that was keeping her awake.

She turned her head. There was enough light now for her to see his face, highlighting the elegant line of his cheekbone, gilding his tousled curls. Teresa still marvelled that he was really hers, couldn't believe it in a way. It seemed too good to be true. Was that why she still doubted? I don't know if he'll stick around... He meant it when he said he loved her, she knew that, yet part of her was still afraid he might not stay, that loving her would not be enough, that she would not be enough, to overcome his fears, his longstanding inability to trust, to let anyone in.

The idea of letting anyone get close to me is terrifying... He had good reason for his fear. She remembered the shattered wreck of a man who had dragged himself into the CBI, into her life, all those years ago. That was what giving his heart and having it torn away had done to him. (She'd always been afraid to think about what kind of state he must have been in before the mental hospital.) The loss had so nearly destroyed him. What could be worth risking going through that pain again?

No, Teresa realized painfully, her question really was, how could she be worth that risk, that pain? No one had ever loved her that much before. Not any of the men she had been with in the past. Not Marcus. Not even her own father.

And yet... Patrick did. It was scary and overwhelming, but it had been so clear in his eyes, proved undeniably by his actions in confronting three armed lunatics.

Patrick Jane loved her, Teresa Lisbon, more than life.

He had clearly seen the mortal danger of the situation she was in, and without hesitation had flung himself into it with her. He intended to save her if he could, obviously, but having no time for an elaborate plan, his bluff was paper-thin and he knew it. There was no real hope that it would work, and he didn't care. She was about to die, and he fully intended to die with her. That long last look had been eloquent. He wouldn't survive losing her, and didn't mean to even try.

She shuddered, at last feeling fully what it all meant. He really did love her that much, that losing her would hurt him as much as losing Angela had. Which was wonderful, but also appalling, because his plan for dealing with his fear appeared to be this: if she died, he'd make sure he died too.

Definitely too much for her exhausted brain to handle. She wanted his love, but she also wanted him to live, wanted him to want to live, no matter what. How could she convince him that his life was worth living, even if she wasn't there?

It was too late for that, she realized, remembering the raw emotion in his face on that airplane, just a few weeks ago. I can't imagine waking up, knowing I won't see you. To be honest, she felt the same way. She didn't want to live without him, either. Even thinking of moving away from him had hurt her worse than a bullet. Trying to imagine a world without him in it at all... No. Not bearable.

This love gave them such power over each other. She could destroy him. Or she could make him happy. And he could do the same to her. No wonder he had been so terrified. This was way scarier than looking down the barrel of Foster's gun. And it would last a lot longer.

At least it would if she had anything to do with it. Suddenly, the solution seemed obvious. If she wanted him to live, she just had to make sure she lived too. In the moment of imminent death, all she had wanted was more time, the chance for a life with Patrick, and God had granted her prayer. It was up to her to make the most of what she was given, to cherish this gift.

Patrick had found the courage to love her, to take the risk, and so could she. It was a lot easier to face fear when you weren't alone. They were both afraid, in their different ways. But they could deal with it, together.

Feeling much more relaxed, she yawned and laid her head on his shoulder. He mumbled something without really waking and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She snuggled into his side contentedly and joined him in sleep.