Today is the one year anniversary of the first time I posted a fic here, and I just wanted to take the time to thank anyone who has ever commented on, favorited, or followed my stories. It truly means the world to me.

This is my celebration, of sorts.

There are pages in our story, maybe just one or two,

where the character that holds the hammer also holds the glue.

Tyler Knott Gregson

XXX

They've just lost another lead on Volker when Jane brings Lisbon tea for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

After Vegas, after he broke her in a hundred different ways, sharing tea with him seemed like it would be the last thing she would want. So he had stayed away. Locked himself in his attic with the dust and conspiracy theories and drank his tea alone. But this time is different. This time, Lisbon is a little more fractured, a little more haunted, and the guilt that works its way into her every movement scares Jane beyond words.

She shouldn't have to know what that feels like.

So he's going to make it all right.

He pushes his way into her office, balancing two cups of hot tea in his hands and whistling. His seemingly good mood is an unwelcome contrast to Lisbon's, and she shoots him a slightly irritated frown as he sits down across from her.

"What do you want, Jane?" Her tone is tired and defeated and this is not the Lisbon he knows, the Lisbon he loves and teases and protects.

"I have tea," he says in way of a peace offering, pushing the cup along the top of her desk and nudging it toward her hands. She leans back in her chair, moving away from him, and the action makes Jane's chest tighten. He needs to fix this. He needs to fix them.

"It's-" The words catch in his throat, cracking and falling apart. (Her eyes are so very green as she watches him struggle, and this is what drowning feels like.) "It's very good tea," he finally manages, the words lame and hollow.

"Very good tea," she echoes, gaze curious as she leans back in toward him slowly.

Jane nods. "Drink it," he says, authoritarian tone making Lisbon raise an eyebrow at him. "Please," he tacks on hastily, spreading his hands out across the top of her desk in what he hopes is a placating way.

The small smile of encouragement that she gives him takes the sting out of her words. "Is it magic tea that tells me how to fix everything?"

He half-shrugs, tries to summon up a blinding smile to charm her but finds that he can't. "It's chamomile."

She seems to accept this, and finally reaches forward for the cup, her fingers barely brushing across his. Jane watches her take a sip, then clears his throat.

"We'll catch him, you know," he says, trying to ignore the way her hand tightens around the ceramic when she realizes who he's talking about. "Whether it be tomorrow or a week from now or two weeks from now. We'll catch him, Lisbon."

She takes a deep breath, her gaze drifting to somewhere just over his shoulder. "You can't be sure of that." The words come out on a sigh, and they tangle in Jane's chest, red-hot and full of doubt.

He slides forward in his seat until he regains her attention. "I am," he says, making sure she can see the truth of it in his eyes, "because he chose the wrong CBI agent to mess with."

She stares at him, uncomprehending, her fingers clasped so tightly around her cup of tea that her knuckles turn white.

She doesn't know. Jane can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth. He'll have to spell it out for her. "He chose you," he says quietly, "and that will be his undoing."

Lisbon's gaze softens, and there's something resting in her evergreen eyes that turns Jane's pulse into a frenzied, rabbit-thumping beat. She picks up a pen and flicks it through her fingers, casting a glance at her half-finished paperwork, but then apparently thinks better of it. "How can you be so confident?" she asks, dropping the pen and wrapping both hands around her cup of tea again instead.

He smiles widely at her, feeling his own untouched tea go cold between his hands. "Because I'm here," he says simply, "with you. It's almost impossible to lose hope when I have you by my side."

Her answering blush spreads quickly, darkening her cheeks and making her eyes sparkle. Lisbon ducks her head in an attempt to hide her reaction, but the move is a few seconds too late. "Jane, that's..." she fumbles for the right words, gesturing vaguely. "I mean, I really-"

Jane catches the tips of her outstretched fingers with his, stilling her movements. He will never get tired of touching her, he realizes as her wide-eyed reaction sends a shiver down his spine. He smirks. "Drink your tea, Lisbon."

XXX

He's not going to leave the attic today.

He's just going to lie here with his Red John board, his book, and his head full of suspects, and he's not going to leave. Not for anything. Not for food or human contact or even murder. Nothing short of a fire in the building could possibly convince him to move.

Sighing contentedly, Jane rolls over onto his back and flips A Tale of Two Cities open, his fingers skimming lightly over the words. The sound of approaching footsteps catches his attention before he can actually start reading, and the smile that pulls at his mouth is sudden and blinding. There's only one person he knows who walks like that.

"Lisbon," he calls through the door, "I can hear you skulking around out there. What is it?"

"We've got a case. You can deal with Red John later." Annoyance colors her tone and only makes his smile grow.

"Yeah," he drawls, "Missy Roberts. I already broke that case wide open." It's a slight exaggeration, but the case is practically solved, in his mind at least, and it's certainly not worth leaving his attic to explain his thoughts to everyone else. He tries to focus on the book in front of him, but the words blur and his mind won't cooperate, not when Lisbon is just outside the door.

"Let's go talk to the victim's sister," she tries, voice anxious. When it's clear he's not going to respond to that she sighs and shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. He can hear the exact moment that she finds a new tactic.

"Jane, I need you."

Oh.

Well he can't exactly ignore that.

He rolls off his bed and slips the book underneath his pillow, then makes his way over to the locked door. It slides open easily once he removes the padlock, and then Lisbon is right in front of him, waiting and wonderful. Jane swallows thickly, trying to ignore the painful tug in his chest. "It's nice to be needed," he admits softly, and he watches her eyes go dark. In that moment he sees everything they are and everything they could be laid out in front of him.

It is beautiful and shining and brimming with impossibility.

"Anything for you, Lisbon."

XXX

He shoots another Red John lead to save her, and he doesn't regret it afterward. Not at all.

He does go hide in his attic when they get back to the CBI though, because he needs to be away from people, away from Lisbon even. (As much as he doesn't regret saving her life, he needs time to think, and her presence is not exactly conducive to that undertaking). He sits on his makeshift bed uncomfortably, and tries to reason through everything that has happened in the last few days, tries to forget the harsh recoil of the gun against his palm and the look on Lisbon's face when she realized what he had done for her (again).

The world outside his attic window smells like rain and lightning, and over the distant roll of thunder, Jane can hear the dull reverberations of Lisbon's steps as she makes her way to his attic door. He takes a deep breath, lets the storm curl inside his chest.

"Hello, Lisbon," he calls, trying to sound nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that he can't quite get rid of.

"Jane," she says through the door, her tone gentle, like she's afraid she'll scare him off if she talks normally, "will you let me in?"

He closes his eyes, fingers curling tightly into the threadbare blanket beneath him. How can he say no when she asks like that? "I'm thinking," he chokes out, and it's not a lie, but it comes out sounding like one.

"Can't we think together?" She sounds a touch pleading, and he realizes that maybe she just wants to be with him, to exist with him in the same place for a moment and be content in the knowledge that they are both still alive.

Jane shakes his head. "I don't think that's the best idea." There's something reckless humming through his veins, and it wants to be near Teresa Lisbon, but he can't let that happen, not yet.

She goes very quiet at his words, and he can tell that she's working up the courage to say something.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she says eventually, her voice low and mournful. "I'm so, so sorry."

It takes him a moment to realize that she's apologizing for him saving her life.

He can hear retreating footsteps then, and she's walking away, she's leaving him. His stomach gives a nauseous twist at the thought, and suddenly he's standing up and moving toward the locked door. "Lisbon?" he calls, sounding desperate and needy, and at some point Jane realizes that he's actually shaking. He fumbles with the padlock, then wrenches the door open, terrified that he won't find her waiting on the other side.

She's paused just at the top of the stairs, half turned toward him with a concerned look on her face and dusty attic light caught in her hair.

(He can't breathe.)

"Jane," she takes a step toward him, "are you all right?"

The word tumbles out. "No," he says, and this is honesty and heartbreak, and it is all for her.

Lisbon takes another step toward him, and she looks like she wants to say something, but Jane doesn't let her, because he needs to make her understand.

(He once promised a dying man that he would look after her.)

"Your life," he says quickly, the words burning their way across his tongue, "is much more important to me than any Red John lead. And I know," he sucks in a quick breath, "I know that in the past I have done a truly horrible job of proving that to you."

She's standing right in front of him now, something lovely and unreadable in her eyes.

It gives him strength.

He continues. "I have manipulated you and lied to you and endangered your life so many times, and that's not fair to you."

"Jane-" Lisbon looks thoughtful as she half reaches out to touch him.

He traps her hand in his and tugs her closer. "It's not fair of me to ask you to trust me this way when I never give you anything in return."

She gives him a slow smile, as though she has just figured something out. "Jane, you may be under the impression, in this moment at least, that we have a very one-sided relationship, but that's not the case."

"But Lisbon-"

She holds up her free hand to stop him from continuing. "Shush. It's not true, and I won't have you believing that it is."

He watches her for a beat that's slightly too long and too loaded. (Sometimes she truly astounds him.) "All right, Lisbon."

She nods once. "Good." Her gaze drops to their hands. Jane runs his thumb over one of the lines of her palm, loves the way she practically jumps out of her skin at the careful gesture. "I need to..." She seems to lose her train of thought in the middle of the sentence, and then quickly releases his hand. "I need to go. Back downstairs."

Jane nods, a little disappointed, but they have both had enough truth for one night, and if they stay together much longer they'll be drowning in it. But a small, irrational part of him is terrified that if she leaves this time she won't be coming back.

Lisbon must see the distress on his face, because she scrambles to explain. "I'll just be right downstairs. I have paperwork," she says. "Lots of paperwork."

He says I understand at the same time that she says because somebody found it necessary to shoot a suspect in the field.

They both stop and stare, then grin sheepishly at each other.

"Oh I see how it is, Lisbon," Jane says, his eyes giving away his amusement.

She huffs at him, but the way her mouth curves upward has nothing to do with annoyance. "You cause a lot of paperwork, Jane, and you never actually help finish any of it."

He slides his hands into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. "This conversation again?"

"Yes," she says stubbornly, sticking her chin out at him in a way that he finds utterly endearing.

"I should just hide in my attic until all this paperwork disappears," he grumbles, knowing he could never do that, because it would mean giving up Lisbon's couch and the warm quiet of her office and her. (There are some things he's just not strong enough to lose.)

She laughs. "Now there's an idea."

Jane smiles and then waves her off. "Go finish the mountain of paperwork that I've so generously provided you with so you can go home at a reasonable time tonight."

Lisbon rolls her eyes, but turns on her heel and makes her way back toward the stairs. She pauses on the top step, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Jane?" She bites her lip, and his heart stutters at the mannerism.

"Yes, my dear?" The endearment slips easily off his tongue.

"Dinner later?" she asks, twisting her fingers into her jacket at the question, as though she's unsure of how he'll respond. (As if he could ever say no to her.)

"Of course," he says.

The little smile she gives him in return sets his veins on fire, and he actually has to turn away so that she won't be able to see the reaction play out across his face. As he's just about to shut his attic door, Lisbon speaks again.

"Thank you for saving my life, Jane."

Something light bursts through his chest unexpectedly, and he grins into the hazy dark of the attic. "You're very welcome, Teresa."