Hey everyone! It's been a while since I wrote anything for this fandom, and I thought it was time to rectify that.

I don't have a whole lot to say about this one. Just a small oneshot set between the finale and the beginning of Season 7, dealing with some issues I think they could address when the show comes back.

Jane/Lisbon of course. T rated for safety due to a vague mention of suicide. Nothing recognizable belongs to me in any way.

Hope you enjoy.

Teresa Lisbon couldn't sleep.

It was a moonless night in Austin, Texas, with the stars studding the inky sky like tiny diamonds. Even through the filmy curtains the bright dots of light were clearly visible.

The view of the night sky was the best thing she could say about this dingy motel room, so small as to be almost claustrophobic, made even more so by the piles of boxes on every available surface. She'd given up her apartment in preparation for her big move interstate, but thanks to Patrick Jane, that plan hadn't worked out. She was essentially homeless until she could find a new place, and a long-stay motel had worked for Jane all those years, she could surely handle a few weeks.

He'd offered to have her stay in the Airstream with him. They'd be a bit cramped, he'd said, with a gleam in his eye, but she wouldn't catch him complaining. She'd declined the invitation. Though the situation would have been temporary, she knew they weren't ready to live together in any sense. They were still too new. They'd both need the breathing space. He'd looked disappointed when she said so, but deep down he knew she was right. Neither wanted to risk destroying this wonderful, precious thing they'd waited so long for by rushing in. Neither felt emotionally ready for this. She'd literally just come out of a serious relationship, and it had been a long, long time for Jane.

They agreed; they'd take it slow. Nice, small steps from being best friends to being lovers, negotiating this brand-new twist on a relationship over a decade in the making, and too complex for even themselves to understand fully.

The 'take it slow' plan had been a good idea, in theory, but it hadn't taken long for him to start spending the night. It wasn't just about the sex (fantastic though it was;) some nights all they'd do was lie there in silence, his graceful fingers stroking her hair over and over again until she fell asleep.

Sometimes, he'd still be there when she woke, and sometimes he wouldn't, but she'd hear in him clattering about in the poky little kitchen, or the pipes groaning in protest as he took a shower. In any case, he was never far away.

She looked down beside her as he shifted in his sleep, and resisted the urge to kiss him. He was still an incredibly light sleeper, and more often than not, she knew he lay awake for hours on end after she had drifted off beside him. She suspected the insomnia had become a habit he might never be able to break, just like his long, brooding silences, and the darkness she saw in his eyes sometimes. To live the kind of life he had for so long, with such fear, and rage and hatred had to leave traces. They'd never disappear completely, but she hoped in time that they'd fade enough for him to feel as though he was free again. He deserved it.

Oh, she loved him so much. But after so many years of simply wanting him, she was still getting used to the fact that she could finally say he was hers. And even though he was still a pain in the ass most of the time, he managed to make her so very happy. He said she did the same for him.

The anniversary of the murders was coming up. Even though his family's killer was now dead and buried, no doubt he'd still want to observe it somehow. In the past, he'd always preferred to be alone on that day, but now they were together, she wanted to be there for him. To talk to him, to hold him while he grieved, to keep away the darkness she was sure was still in him, threatening to consume. It had kept him its grasp for so many long years, and over her dead body would she allow him to go back there again.

Every now and then, she found herself thinking of Angela and Charlotte Jane. She'd never met them of course, but she'd seen photographs, read their files, and sometimes Jane had let slip little details here and there. She knew, for instance, that Angela had been allergic to strawberries, and that Charlotte had started walking months before she'd been expected to. Given who her father was however, the fact that Charlotte had been a gifted child hardly came as a surprise. If she had lived, she'd have no doubt been at the top of all her classes, correcting all the students, and driving the teachers insane, just like her father.

She slid out of bed, walked into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water, sipping it slowly as a sudden breath of wind ruffled the curtain.

If Charlotte and Angela had lived, she wouldn't have the life she had now. She probably wouldn't have moved to Texas, or begun working for the FBI, and she certainly wouldn't have this man in her bed. Her current happiness had been born from their deaths. Everything she had today, she'd gotten at the expense of those two lives.

It made her sick.

"Who's the insomniac now?" His arms encircled her waist from behind, and he drew her back against his chest. She hadn't even heard him get up, too lost in her own thoughts.

"I'm thinking."

"What about?"

"Us."

He gave a small chuckle, breath warm against her skin. "Should I be worried?" he asked. "I confess; I'd hoped we'd have a little longer before you came to your senses and realized that you deserve far better than the likes of me."

She knew it was meant in jest, but couldn't help noticing the way his arms tightened around her just a fraction. He could make light of the situation as much as he pleased, but this was clearly a very real concern for him.

"Well, I was holding out for George Clooney," she said, attempting to match his light, teasing tone. "But seeing as he's no longer available, I guess you'll have to do."

"What is it with women and George Clooney?" he said, incredulously. "Is the whole silver-haired fox thing really that enticing to you?"

"Nothing sexier than a man with confidence," she said. "And dressing well doesn't hurt, either." She turned her head slightly to press her lips to his cheek, soft with morning stubble. "Sound like anybody you know?"

"Whoever he is, he sounds like a real catch," he said, with a smile.

"He certainly likes to think so." It was only after she said it that she realized how untrue that statement actually was. The confident swagger, and the belligerence and the megawatt smile were all just part of the front. She knew better than anyone how damaged he was under the surface, but that was OK, because she was damaged too.

He placed a finger under her chin and turned her head towards him until she met his loving gaze. It still gave her a small jolt to see that look in his eyes when he looked at her. For so long, all she'd seen there was anger and sadness and rage.

"He's a lucky man," he said and kissed her, long and slow.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked her, once they broke apart. "What's on your mind?"

She considered whether it was worth attempting to lie. It would be bound to upset him if she told him what was playing on her mind, and perhaps make him rethink their relationship altogether. But she was constantly chastising him for lying to her, accusing him of not trusting her. If she concealed the truth from him now, she'd be guilty of the exact same thing. She just hoped he didn't hate her for it.

"I was thinking about your family."

As she'd expected, he stiffened at her words, and she knew he was seeing their faces in his mind again, but his voice was still gentle.

"What about them?"

"If Red John hadn't happened, you'd still be with them, and you and I would probably never have met. Hasn't it ever crossed your mind that the main reason we're together is because of a serial killer?"

"Of course it has," he said, surprising her. She'd expected his response to be all reassuring kisses and soothing words, but at the same time, she was glad for his honesty.

"I feel guilty," she went on, "that something that makes me so happy came out of something so terrible. I feel like it makes me a bad person."

"Teresa, look at me," he quietly requested, and she uneasily complied, relived to see no anger in his eyes. "I had a lot of time to think about this while I was in South America. You have nothing to feel guilty for. Yes, I miss them, and yes I sometimes wonder what would have happened if my life had turned out a different way, but none of it is your fault."

"You're missing the point," she said, frustrated. "I-"

"You're missing my point," he interrupted. "All you've ever done is give me something to hold onto every time I ever thought about giving up. Without you, I can almost guarantee that I wouldn't be alive today. You saw me, the day we first met. That guy was a wreck, and one way or another, he was heading for an early grave."

"Don't say that," she hissed, fingering the crucifix at her neck.

"Not by my own hand," he said, correctly interpreting her reaction. "But I was so out of touch with reality, anything could have happened to me. I was walking around in such a state of complete unawareness, I'd do things like cross main roads without even looking first. I'm still surprised I wasn't hit by a car."

He leaned forward, and kissed her forehead.

"You were the first one to give me what I needed. You made me clean up my act, instead of pandering to me like everyone else did. You saved my life." He smiled. "The first time of many."

"That's sweet," she said, and pecked his lips again, "but it doesn't stop me feeling like some kind of monster who benefits from other people's misfortunes."

"I know. I just thought you should try seeing yourself the way I see you for a change. Then you might realize how utterly ridiculous you're being."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he neatly cut her off again.

"Angela and Charlotte are gone," he said, simply. "And as much as it hurts, and as unfair as it is, they're not coming back." She saw the familiar shadow pass over his eyes for a moment as he said it. "You are here, and I love you. The only thing I regret is that I didn't tell you sooner."

She let him gather her up into his arms, and pressed her face into his neck. In all honesty, he hadn't said anything that made her feel any better than she had when they'd started. Clearly, this was something she'd have to work through on her own, just like he'd been doing for all these years. Still, she was glad she'd told him. This was what good relationships were about, after all, trust and communication, and there hadn't been a whole lot of that between them until quite recently.

She'd known going in that this relationship wasn't going to be easy, but if easy was what she'd wanted, she'd have gone to DC with Marcus. And she'd known what she wanted for a very long time.

"The anniversary is in a few weeks you know." He tentatively broached the subject she had hoped they were finished talking about.

"I know."

"I've never had anyone to share it with before."

There was a brief pause.

"Are you asking?"

"Depends. Are you offering?"

They held each other's gaze for a moment, each willing the other to be the first to cave, and despite the serious subject matter, she almost wanted to smile. This at least, was familiar, a facet of their old friendship that was still alive and well. After a while, she decided to break the stalemate; if not, they'd be here all day.

"Anything you need," she said. "Whether it's to be with you, or to give you your space. Just name it."

He smiled at her once more. "I've got everything I need right here. And I think I've had enough space for a lifetime."

I'm feeling a little out of practice with my Jane/Lisbon fanfic. I only hope it didn't show too much. Thanks for reading!