AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know both Jane and Tarzan/John seemed very happy in the epilogue of the film, but I myself realistically wouldn't be able to go through the loss of a child, being kidnapped, and watching what you think is the death of your spouse without ending up with some pretty intense separation anxiety.

The title from "Flicker" by Canyon City.

Don't say, don't say

Just let me see

I'll spend my days learning to breathe in place

While the race runs around us

The name on her wrist is black.

She pulls at the chains holding her to the railing of the steamboat, because John can't be dead. Her mark is only malfunctioning like when he said his name was Tarzan. This can't be real. It is not-

But then she sees her husband's body alongside her father and Muviro and Wasimbu's on the deck. Leon standing over the men's corpses, two newborn infants in his arms as blood stains his hands. She knows instantly her children are dead too, because her son and daughter aren't moving in the Belgian's hold. But she can't reach any of her family or friends, and she screams and screams and screams-

"Jane!"

She jerks awake in their house in Boma at John's voice, his hand on her shoulder, and her eyes are wild with fear as she stares at him. Jane can't help but check that her soulmate mark on her wrist is still gold before pressing herself against her husband, and he instantly wraps an arm around her.

"I dreamed you were dead," she gasps against his chest. "You and father and Muviro and Wasimbu and–"

An infant's wail pierces the night, and she is on her feet in an instant, going to the bassinet against the wall of their room. She carefully picks up their days old son and cradles him to her chest, and she does not stop her tears as Jack cries.

"You are alive," she whispers, voice thick. "You are alive. Your sister might not be, but you are."

"Jane," comes her husband's voice, and the old bed creaks when he gets up to come to her side. "You are shaking."

Only when he speaks does she realize how much she is trembling, and she lets him guide her to the bed. They sit together on the edge of the mattress, Jack held tightly in her arms, and she listens to the sound of their son's screams as if it is a symphony.

John's hand brushes strands of her hair back from her face. "Breathe," he murmurs, watching her carefully.

She tries, truly, but it takes her a moment. Her thoughts are still scattered after waking so suddenly, but she would rather feel this way than to stay trapped in that nightmare.

She leans against him as he runs his fingers lightly through her hair. Jack eventually stops crying, and his parents sit quietly together. Jane drinks in the sound of the breathing of her husband and their son, simple as it is, and privately rejoices when Jack even blinks.

His sister is not here to do that, is she?

Jane thinks back to the Greystoke manor where their daughter is buried under a tree. She can see the tombstone in her mind, the stone engraved with the words Elizabeth Clayton, 1889 standing over the grave filled with an impossibly small coffin. Jane had spent hours at the grave. She had ignored the mud on her fine shoes and on the hems of her fine dresses as all the rain England could provide washed over her, but no amount of tears had brought her daughter back.

"John," she says in a low voice, trying not to wake Jack. "I wish to tell you something." She draws a breath. "When we lost Elizabeth, I only paid attention to myself and my grief, with no thought for you. And for that I am truly sorry."

"You had to look after me so long," he replies after a moment, "that it was only fair you focus on yourself."

"But Elizabeth's d… It should have brought us together, not pushed us apart."

"It is in the past. We can only attempt to move on and keep living." John pauses. "He appears to be asleep."

"Yes." She knows what he is implying, but she is more than content to forgo sleep in favor of watching Jack even as exhaustion weighs down her eyelids.

"You need rest," he says softly, and she gives in.

Jack wakes briefly when she returns him to the bassinet, but his eyes flutter closed again, and she only stands there observing him before allowing John to lead her back to bed. She curls against his side as they lay together, his arm across her waist, and she rests her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat until she falls back asleep.

She still won't let either of them out of her sight, though.

One morning when John takes Jack to watch the sunrise before she wakes sends Jane into a panic, and he never again takes their son even into the next room without telling her. During the nights when her husband gets up to tend to a crying Jack in order to let her sleep, Jane cannot help but follow, convinced they will both be taken from her once more.

She has heard of other couples being conflicted about leaving their young children for a night out, but leaving Jack is not even a possibility for Jane; she holds him every chance she gets, and keeps a careful eye on him when he is not in her arms. Their son becomes so accustomed to her that he will let only his parents hold him without wailing his head off, and not even Wasimbu's hands are an acceptable embrace to the infant.

John makes a point of telling Jane if he leaving a room; it almost feels like the early days when she had begun working with him, having to reassure him in various situations, but now their roles are reversed.

And slowly, she starts to trust.

She still listens intently when someone takes Jack out of her sight or when John steps out the door for even the briefest of moments, but she starts to let him check on their son in the night without her hovering at his side. She had respected his ability to do things alone without her assistance before, and she makes herself let that esteem override her terror. But she watches him, comforting him after his own nightmares and monitors the healing of his newest injuries.

John checks in on her with gentle questions or simply concerned glances that say so much, and she appreciates his care. Jane makes an effort to monitor him as well, because she doesn't want a repeat of the distance that had grown between them after Elizabeth death. But this time, they look after each other and help each other heal. Things will never be the same, but they have their son and each other; she doesn't need a European estate or money or expensive clothes or a title to be happy.

And in the end, all she ever wanted was Africa and Jack and John anyway.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here is the final installment in the i was made for loving you series.

I was going to have a piece rewriting the main events of the actual film just as a soulmate AU, but it didn't seem necessary. This series as it is 99% my own creation; of course the characters are not mine, and a handful of scenes are a rewrite of the scenes from the movie, but I rewrote every line of dialogue. I have never read the books, having only seen the 1999 and 2016 movies, and so everything else is of my own creation.

Honestly, I am sad to see this series come to an end.

This is by far the longest project that I have ever written in my entire life, even though I knew from the start that this fandom was very small and pretty much dead, and I am astounded that I even got more than two people reading this series. I spent over a month writing this, and there is a piece of my heart in these fics. Even though I've been writing fics officially for a decade, this series mean more to me than any other piece of fanfiction I've ever created.

And so, thank you from the bottom of my heart to anyone and everyone who read this.