Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter One

It was like watching the world collapse around him. Again. It didn't matter that their suspect, the bastard that they were supposed to catch, had just made a convenient escape in the midst of the chaos, and it was of no importance to him that at the far end of the hallway, people were screaming, ushering their families back into their apartments out of view of the scene taking place. He didn't care to acknowledge the calls coming into his ear through the earwig he'd been required to wear, asking why he'd requested an ambulance moments before, who it was needed for, asking about the suspect, asking who was hurt, asking what was going on, asking if he was still there. He didn't register his heart pounding in his chest, or even the elderly man at the end of the hall telling him that he, too, had called an ambulance. None of that mattered.

Not to him.

Not anymore.

What mattered was Lisbon.

Teresa Lisbon, the strong Senior Agent of the Serious Crimes unit. He'd watched her in action on more than one occasion, observing how well she handled her position, thinking that she was perhaps one of the strongest women in the world, especially with not only her training behind her but also with her past turning her into a hardened adult from the day her mother had died. She'd been the woman she was today before rites of passage had even seen her through her adolescence. He'd often thought of her, there were many things he considered her to be in his life: his boss, his keeper, his minder, his friend, his get-out-of-jail-free card, his fastest path to Red John, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He'd watched, completely immobilised by fear as a weapon had exploded out a single gunshot, no longer aimed at Jane himself as it had been a few moments previously, but rather at Lisbon herself. Fear had pulsed through his veins as things began to slow down before him. He knew exactly what was going to happen the moment he realised he couldn't stare directly into the barrel of the weapon. He wasn't going to be hit by the bullet. He wasn't going to hurt. He wasn't going to be shot. Lisbon was.

She didn't flinch as the bullet hit her, her weapon didn't drop from her hand, not until she looked down at her side and saw the damage for herself, anyway. The blood didn't even spread immediately through the white shirt she was wearing – television always lied about that – but instead he could see an almost pristine hole in the fabric. He could see it in her eyes – she was mulling over thoughts about how no one had time to grab a bullet-proof vest because they had left so quickly, moving from one crime scene to another without time for standing still and adding an extra layer of protection.

"Lisbon," he found himself whispering, his voice touching heights of pain that he'd never reached before.

He'd once walked into a room and seen his wife and daughter's mutilated bodies displayed before him, an act of violence he hadn't been there prevent, so much blood surrounding them, painting a taunting smiley signature on the wall, that he knew that dropping to his knees, trying to revive them would do no good. Their lives had left them too long ago. It had been too long. The damage had been done.

But to watch the damage slowly uncoil in front of you? That was a horror he'd been spared the first time around. Not this time, though.

Lisbon looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. There was no one else in the corridor apart from them anymore, and even in the midst of the terrified screams of the residents escaping down the stairwells, they were unable to concentrate on anything but each other. Jane's whisper had been immediately distinguishable from the far away cries of the civilians to her, as his was filled with nothing more than a devastation that caused more pain to hear. As she realised that the bullet that had been fired was, in fact, lodged in her torso, the blood began to seep through her shirt, a bright, angry red that stained her front; an icy pain started to spread through her body too quickly for her to comprehend.

She started to fall, surrendering to gravity's will when her legs gave way beneath her, but she never felt herself reach the floor below. Jane had already dropped with her – through intention or his own strength abandoning him, she never knew – catching her in his arms before she could hit the hard ground, which would have only caused her more pain. She fell limp into his arms, feeling his embrace become rigid as he did his best to stall the bleeding with his jacket and hold her at the same time. Impulse took over, the determination to save her overcoming the sickening feeling that raged through him when he saw the sight of so much blood seeping over her.

"Lisbon..." he muttered, looking down at her dazed face.

She looked up at him, and he could see that she was already fighting for consciousness through the pain. His heart would have fallen in his chest, but it had already dropped beyond repair and could fall no further. If she fell unconscious, he was afraid that she would never wake up again, especially with so much blood being lost. It was the blood that stopped him from doing what he really wanted to do, the blood that reminded him so much of his lost wife and daughter that he wanted to hold her so tightly against him that it would be impossible for her to leave him as well, but the rational part of his mind that took over, telling him that what she really needed him to do was try and stall the bleeding, because anything otherwise would only be causing her more pain that necessary.

Her green eyes were round and moist, glistening with an unusual fear as she blinked rapidly. She struggled to focus on something around her – anything – until her eyes found his once again, and he held her gaze fiercely. He gathered her more tightly in his arms, cradling her head gently in the crook of his elbow as he had done with his daughter many years ago when she fell asleep in his arms, only he was mindful of the wound that Lisbon bore. By now, the entire front of her shirt was covered in her blood...her blood...and it was this blood that changed everything.

Was every woman he got close to going to be drained of blood?

"Jane..." she gasped, pain lost in her voice as it was too overcome with shock.

His heart pounded louder, they'd been through so much over the years but he'd never, not once, heard her sound afraid before. He swore at himself, unsure of whether or not he actually said it aloud, but he didn't care. He should have reacted sooner. He should have been able to do something, anything, to prevent her from getting shot instead of him. He shouldn't have wound the guy up so much that he'd pulled a gun in the first place.

"Oh, god..." he almost whimpered, feeling a bile rise in his throat, but he choked it back down as he bent his wrist, so that he could bring a hand to her cheek as well as cradle her head. He dared not release any of the pressure he was placing over the gunshot wound. "Teresa..."

He watched, waited, looking for the blush that always rose to her cheeks when he used her first name. It was sometimes a rush of annoyance, but more recently it had been one much like a school girl with a crush. It had amused him, so he kept using her first name from time to time. The blush added an extra smile of his own to his day. He waited, but there was no blush, no smile, no anger, no stubbornness. He wasn't winding her up, he wasn't getting her into trouble with the boss, he wasn't bringing her an apology coffee or leaving an origami creation on her desk, he wasn't bothering her with the latest time record for completing a sudoku puzzle.

This was serious, wasn't it?

The ambulance wasn't here yet. Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt weren't here yet. He was covered up to his elbows in Lisbon's blood that just didn't seem to stop escaping no matter how hard he pressed his jacket against it...this was bad.

This was really bad.

But it couldn't be the end, could it?

"It's ok, you're going to be fine. You hear me? You're going to be fine," he stumbled over his words, as much as he tried to convince her. She never usually believed anything he said anyway, why would she believe him now, when he was telling her she'd be fine when half her blood must have been surrounding her. But what else could he do? What could he do, say, to fix the situation? Anything? Nothing?

He looked over his shoulder, taking his eyes from her for just a second to collect himself. He felt his eyes burning and was hoping to prevent his tears from spilling over, mixing with the blood that was still rapidly escaping her, but that was proving hard. It was too familiar. Too much blood. Blood everywhere. Just like his wife and daughter. She was going to die with her blood surrounding her like they had done. The difference this time was that he was there - he was there to see her life slowly drain away from her. He was going to be there to see her breath fail her, her heart stop, and her eyes lose their light.

He couldn't lose her.

As he turned, his eyes fell on the figures of the rest of the team, who had appeared through the stairwell with shocked expressions upon seeing their boss bleeding out in Jane's arms. Their presence should have made him feel better, just like their assurances that the paramedics were on their way, but it didn't. The fear in Cho's eyes was frightening in itself, the usually composed man who rarely cracked a smile looked horrified as he looked at Lisbon's blood all over the hall, all over her, all over Jane. He feared the worse, Jane realised, as he looked back down at Lisbon, who was looking more disorientated than she had done only a few seconds before, and he understood why immediately.

They were already losing her.

"Patrick," she said, drawing out his name in a long exhale.

He shook his head, welling up with unwanted tears at the sound of her tiny, frail voice. Lisbon didn't sound tiny and frail. Lisbon sounded strong. Lisbon sounded sure and certain. Lisbon was losing a lot of blood, and he wasn't sure how much she had left. "Don't try to talk," he told her softly, unable to bear the possibility of losing somebody else. His eyes were pleading with her constantly to breath, to hold on...

"You have to get him," she managed to tell him, despite the pain it clearly caused her to speak. "He needs to be locked up, you have to-"

As always, she was focused on the crime rather than herself. That was just how she was, how she'd been raised from the age of twelve – think of others before yourself. She'd done it from her teenage years and it was one of the aspects of behaviour that she'd been able to transfer from her personal life to her professional one. It was in her nature.

"I'm not going anywhere," he told her stubbornly, shaking his head.

"-Before he hurts anywhere else..." she trailed off. Jane's pounding heart almost stopped when her eyelids started to flutter closed. However, she simply coughed, rather wheezily and resumed her pleading. "Don't let him hurt anyone else..."

"I'm not leaving you," he told her.

"You have to stop him-"

"No, I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

She tried a smile, but it was more of a grimace, a sweet smile he wasn't sure she could give in this dire situation. "You care too much," she coughed out.

"I care just right," he told her.

"You love me," she stated.

The thumb on her cheek stopped it's stroking, but he nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do."

At that, the tears started spilling out. He didn't care whether or not he looked ridiculous. She could be dying. She knew she could by dying, and she was asking him to leave her side to catch a criminal they'd probably still get the next day, after correctly guessing that he did love her. Without her, what was the use in fighting anymore? He wasn't ready to lose her yet. He needed her to stay with him. He hadn't realised how strongly he felt about her until her blood started soaking into his shirt and he realised that he could lose her. He needed to see her eyes, no matter how much pain they were filled with. He needed her to be alive. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not with so much behind them, and so much left unsaid, unexplored. She'd just figured out that he loved her.

Then he felt hands over his – Cho's hands, taking over the pressure on Lisbon's wounds. Jane found his hands were free. Instantly, he placed one hand on her cheek, ignoring the smear of blood it transferred to her skin. The other arm continued to cradle her head. "Teresa, please, just stay with me," he urged her – she'd realised he loved her, that gave him free reign over first names.

"It hurts," she told him in a pitiful voice that wasn't her own. "Too much...I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he told her, fully aware that he didn't sound too convincing to anyone when he had tears streaming down his cheeks in a steady flow. He didn't know much time they had left. The paramedics wouldn't be here in time. It could all be over in minutes, seconds even, it might already be too late, there was so much blood... "You have to. Don't leave me, okay?"

She gave him a tired, weak expression. "I guess I love you too," she said, as if continuing the previous conversation.

"You're going to be okay," he told her, horrified to hear the goodbye she was putting into her voice. It was bad enough that his own hope was fading, let alone hers. "Please, stay with me. Hold on."

"I'll try," she said, as strongly as she could.

He started to wonder what he was asking her to hold on for – the paramedics that hadn't arrived yet? A miracle? If he knew he could make it, he'd have got on his feet and carried her to a hospital, but he knew that he couldn't. That's why she knew it was too much to fight this. They both knew, because she wasn't going to make it through this. She'd been fighting for so long, and now there was no fight left inside of her; at least, not enough to fight off death.

Jack held her fast against him, blocking out everything around them. She didn't have to see that Cho and Rigsby were pressing hard on her abdomen, trying in vain to stop her blood. Thankfully Grace wasn't there – the sight probably would have shocked her into labour. Yes, he was glad she was on maternity leave. He knew that her blood was now staining through his shirt, as he could feel the warm liquid against his stomach and chest, but he didn't look down to see it. He couldn't. His eyes were trained on her face. He couldn't leave her. He wouldn't, no matter how tempting it was to run so that he didn't have to see this. More tears formed, flowing over the ones that had already stained his cheeks, and if he wasn't biting his lip to prevent the lump in his throat from bursting, it would have engulfed him entirely. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. All he was managing to do was breath and hold her tightly in his arms. It was as if as long as he held her she wouldn't be able to leave him. He tried to come up with another solution, anything other than the finality of Lisbon bleeding out in his arms, but no matter how many ideas darted from the corners of his scrambled mind, nothing seemed logical enough to work.

Ignoring the presence of the team beside him, he dipped his head, gently kissing her trembling lips with his own. When he pulled back he made an attempt to sweep her hair from her face. Her brow furrowed every few seconds as she winced in pain from her injury, and he felt his heart start to break when a soft moan escaped her mouth. She'd lost too much blood now, surely?

"Just relax," he whispered to her, touching his face with a tenderness he thought he'd lost since his daughter was stolen from him. "Just think about tomorrow, ok? I'll buy you dinner. We can go to that nice place we saw on the ride back from Davis last week..."

He broke off when his voice got caught in his throat. He couldn't speak those words anymore, even to himself, not when the tomorrow he was promising was never going to happen. Her eyes drooped again and it was becoming more of a struggle to keep them open for her. It wouldn't be long now.

Lisbon smiled weakly. "That sounds nice," she whispered, only heard by Jane because he was so close. They stared into one another's eyes, fearful that the moment they looked away it would be over. Jane couldn't stop speaking to her, trying to assure that she would be ok, his words punctuated with Lisbon's whimpers and cries of pain as she clung to him as best she could. He couldn't lose her. Not now...

She was still beautiful, even with death creeping over her. Her eyes might have lost their glitter, but they were still inviting green oceans, compelling him to keep staring. She was still the woman he had, apparently, fallen in love with even when he swore he'd never love again.

He watched her grimace as another wave of pain hit her, and hit her hard. Her breathing worsened as her need for oxygen reached a critical level, her aching chest heaving several times in a vain attempt to fill her empty lungs. Jane could do nothing but watch her worriedly, telling her over and over again that he loved her, thinking back through his life to try and remember something that could have helped, but there was nothing.

And then it all stopped.

Any need for breath deserted her as her chest rose and fell for the last time – the final time. The cries stopped, the frantic whimpers stopped, the movement stopped...

"Lis...Lisbon?" he asked, frowning slightly. He tried to think of another explanation for why she had fallen so still, why Cho was shouting frantically at somebody but a large lump in his throat told him the simple truth. She wasn't breathing, she wasn't moving, she wasn't whimpering...because she wasn't breathing.

But if she wasn't breathing...then she was...

"No, no...please, Lisbon," he pleaded over her hauntingly unmoving body. "Lisbon, wake up. Come on, Teresa, open your eyes. Breathe. You can do it."

Lisbon had stopped breathing. She was lying in his arms. Not moving. Not breathing.

She was never going to wake up again. He'd never get to tell her properly how he felt, rather than have her guess while blood poured from her. He should have realised sooner, he'd wasted so much time, and now he wouldn't get another chance. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so focused on his first attempt at starting a life for himself that he'd failed to see his second opportunity?

She was so still, her arms draped over her chest in the position they had fallen still in. She was deathly pale, but she didn't look...dead. She didn't look like his wife and daughter had when he found them. She looked like she was sleeping. His pressed his lips to hers again, clinging to the fairytale hope that this might wake her up, but already her lips were cold and unfamiliar, and they didn't warm no matter how long he lingered there, begging against her chilling skin for her to wake up.

Then there were hands pulling at him, tugging her unresponsive body away from him. He fought against the movement, trying to keep her in his arms, until Rigsby's reassuring voice was beside him, telling him that it was the paramedics who were taking her. Paramedics were good. Paramedics were doctors. Doctors could save her, right? She could be saved? Someone could still save her? As Lisbon's body was taken from him, Rigsby raised Jane to his feet, steering the consultant a little down the hall, away from the sight of four paramedics descending on Lisbon's body. He made sure that Jane's back was too them, so that he couldn't see the efforts they were taking to revive her. It would only break him.

"Jane," he said softly. "Jane, look at me."

"Teresa..." he whispered back under his breath, trying to turn his head and see her.

Rigsby forced his head to keep facing him. "She'll be fine," he told him firmly.

"She-she-she stopped breathing," he stuttered, as if he was processing the meaning in the back of his mind. "She's...she stopped breathing...that means she's-"

"She's breathing!" one of the paramedics called out, right on cue before Jane could say the word 'dead'. "Let's get her into the ER, no one touches that bullet until we've got her into trauma."

"I'm coming," Jane told them, stumbling away from the others and heading towards them,

One of the paramedics stood, holding out a hand. "Sorry, sir, you'll have to meet us there."

He looked panicked at this, the thought of not being at her side overwhelming him. "No," he insisted. "No, I'm not leaving her."

"Let them work, Jane," Cho instructed lightly.

"I'm not leaving her!" he shouted back, even though none of the paramedics were listening or waiting for him. They simply lifted Lisbon onto a stretcher and started to get her to the roof level where the others guessed they had a chopper waiting to transport them to the hospital.

Cho stared Jane down, taking charge in Lisbon's absence and ignoring the fact that Jane had just screamed in his face. "There's nothing you can do now, Jane," he pointed out. "They'll take care of her."

"Come on," Rigsby said, putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him to the stairwell. "We'll leave now and meet them at the hospital."

Before he could lead him anywhere, however, Jane bowed his head, allowing it to rest on Rigsby's shoulder. The burning sensation returning and the thick lump choking up his throat followed it. He felt his own strength, which had been wavering from the second he watched Lisbon get hit, start to disappear completely. He tried to control his breathing as everything began to overwhelm him but it was only a matter of seconds before his exhausted, terrified breaths turned into sobs. Once they had started, there was no way to stop them, even knowing that the person he was crying for was breathing again. Nothing had hurt him this much in a long time, not since he'd seen that smiley face on his daughters bedroom wall.

"She'll be fine," Rigsby told him softly, clapping him on the back and not mentioning how awkward the moment was.

"It can't end like this," he half-whined.

"It won't," he assured him firmly. He looked up at him, trying to recompose himself. "Come on, let's get to the hospital. They'll tell us what's going on."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Let me know what you think