AN: When I began this fic in October, I knew how I wanted it to end but didn't know how to get there. Life happened and I didn't have the time to devote to this story, which is why I returned later to rewrite parts of it. At any rate, the final scene in this chapter is how I originally envisioned this story ending. I don't imagine everyone will like it, but it certainly leaves room for a continuation at some point.

This chapter is a little different than the previous ones. It bounces back and forth in time between the night Jane and Lisbon first slept together and the present day. Past scenes are in italics; present scenes are in normal text. This chapter also toes the line between T and M, so just beware of that if it's not your cup of tea.

Thanks for following along on this ride. I love writing for you all!

She'll deny it a thousand times, but Lisbon cries over Jane that night.

It's all too much, the feelings that have been building since the night she almost died and then after he almost died. She's been treading water for so long, and for a few minutes, she lets herself sink.

Particularly after the events of the last twelve hours, she thinks she's earned it.

Then she becomes angry. Because she and Jane are perfect for each other; of this she is certain. Had they been each other in any other life, they would have been happy. But she is Lisbon and he is Jane, and in this universe, almost meant to be is just not enough.

So she cries, her mascara running down her face and staining her pillow. She lets herself feel, and hurt, and grieve. And it's crushing, the feeling of mourning the future. Because everything will change now.

It already has, she thinks, pulling her knees to her chest.

Jane pushes open the door to her office with his right hand, the summer sunset streaming through the windows and flooding the room in rose-colored light.

Lisbon looks up and stands, pushing away from her desk. "Where did you disappear to?" she asks, moving over to him. "We couldn't find you after we dropped Maya off."

Jane shrugs. "Nowhere," he says. And it's true. He'd just been wandering, with nowhere in particular in mind. Shooting Hardy had put his entire memory palace into disarray, and he'd wanted space – and time – to try and make sense of it again.

He hadn't succeeded.

But, as usual, he had found himself drawn back to the CBI. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that Lisbon serves as a sort of homing beacon, always leading him back when he is lost.

Lisbon stops about a foot in front of him. "You saved my life," she says, her voice small.

"You told me I'd choose life," he reminds her. "You were right."

Lisbon smirks at him. "Could you say that last part again so I can record it? I'd like to be able to play it back again when the situation calls for it."

Jane laughs, a deep, bellyaching laugh. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like, to laugh like this. To smile. So he reaches for Lisbon and pulls her against him. To his surprise, she doesn't fight it. "I will always choose your life," Jane says, and he's a little shocked that he sounds almost reverent. "No matter the cost."

He feels a drop of moisture land on his neck, and Lisbon ducks her head, clearly embarrassed. Jane just hugs her tighter.

He drops his forehead to her shoulder and takes a deep breath. Feeling her shake slightly, Jane turns his head slightly, intending to whisper something to her to help her calm down, but his lips unexpectedly come into contact with the skin of her neck. He feels her pulse racing underneath his lips, and suddenly he can't move.

Every heartbeat tells him she's alive.

His lips begin to move of their own accord, pressing almost-there kisses to her skin. Lisbon stiffens initially but relents immediately after, leaning into him and allowing him to trail his lips away from her neck and down her shoulder, pushing her blouse to the side.

Lisbon reaches out to steady herself, placing her hand on Jane's chest, and Jane comes back to himself. He starts, pulling back.

"Lisbon," he says, immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry – I didn't – I wasn't thinking –"

Lisbon meets his eyes, and he's surprised to see hers are darker than he's ever seen them.

"Don't stop," she whispers.

So he doesn't.

Jane only fumbles slightly with his keys as he enters his motel room, a minor victory. He's almost gotten used to functioning with only one hand – he's mastered shoelaces and buttons, teabags and origami. He's come to accept that his disability has left him unable to perform the majority of his old sleight of hand tricks, but he's planning on developing new ones. Perhaps he can use them to get a smile or two out of Lisbon someday when all of this is over. God knows she deserves to laugh more often.

He flips on the light and glances down at his right hand, remembering when Lisbon had kissed it in the hospital. Her hands, her warmth, her body had become such a part of him recently that he feels as though he's lost a part of himself.

It's a feeling more paralyzing than losing his arm.

He shrugs out of his jacket and begins to undo the buttons on his vest. Tossing the vest on the unmade bed, he moves to the buttons on his shirt, then discards the shirt on the bed as well.

He steps toward the bathroom, turning on this light as well, and works up enough courage to look himself in the mirror for the first time in weeks.

Jane balks, taking a step back. The damaged skin look better, certainly, but his right arm has atrophied almost beyond belief. He knows he's never been physically strong per se, but he'd never seen himself as weak.

Now he does.

Jane squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing. When his heartrate is nearly under control, he opens his eyes.

His gaze is drawn to a small piece of paper tucked underneath a glass of water on the counter. Leery, Jane reaches out to grab it, knowing he hadn't left the paper there this morning.

When he registers what he's seeing, he jerks, knocking the glass of water to the floor. He thinks it shatters, but he doesn't actually hear it crash. His ears don't seem to be functioning – all he can hear is the blood rushing through them.

It's not just a sheet of paper. It's a greeting card.

With Red John's mark on the front.

Jane lunges toward the main room, grabbing his jacket and searching for his cell phone. He hits the first number on speed dial.

Lisbon doesn't answer, and the call goes to voicemail. Jane ends the call and tries again. Mercifully, Lisbon picks up.

"Sorry, Jane, I just stepped out of the bathroom," says Lisbon, her voice sounding hoarse. "Are you okay?"

Jane sits down on the bed, worried he might pass out. "Are you okay?"

The silence on the other end tells him that Lisbon is flummoxed. "I'm fine," she says suddenly, and the words are too quick. "Did something happen?"

"He left a note," says Jane, the words quivering as they come out of his mouth. "Can I come over?"

Lisbon doesn't answer right away. Then she seems to pull herself together. "Yes. Yes, of course."

"Be right there."

They don't talk.

Lisbon tells herself this is to keep things impersonal, but she knows the real reason is that they are beyond words at this point. He knows her better than any lover she's ever had; he reads her thoughts before she has them.

So they move in silence and shadows in an unfamiliar motel room, his hands impossibly everywhere all at once. His lips follow his hands, teasing her skin, kissing her hips, her breasts, her navel.

She's never heard his breath so shaky, and it is thrilling.

She trails a finger up his spine, running over each of the individual vertebrae, and Jane moans, pressing his body more closely against hers. Lisbon smiles.

And yet, and yet, they rarely kiss. His lips don't meet hers until the moment he joins his body with hers, and even then, it's just for an instant. He shifts his head quickly, stilling his hips so that they can both just feel each other for a few seconds, and then begins kissing the corner of her jaw.

It's just what she needs. It's just what he needs.

And then he begins to move.

She meets him, gives as good as she takes. He doesn't last long, but she'd expected this, and he attends to her soon after.

Spent, they curl into each other and proceed to remain in silence. She feels his smile against the nape of her neck.

"I just needed to see you," Jane says when she opens the door. "I know I'm being ridiculous. But I just…"

"It's okay," she says, stepping aside to let him in and closing the door behind him. "Can I see it?"

He hands her the card. She spares a few seconds to take in the mark on the front before opening it. "You didn't tell me there was a message inside," she says, glancing up at him, and he thinks he sees real panic in her eyes for the first time since he's known her.

"It didn't even occur to me to look," he says honestly. And it's true – he's been more than a little preoccupied. He looks down at the card held in Lisbon's delicate yet sure fingers and feels his stomach sink. There's one word written in red ink.

Congratulations.

"I don't understand," says Jane, grabbing the card. He looks at Lisbon, helpless, but is surprised to find clarity rather than confusion in her eyes. "But you do, don't you?"

Lisbon's breath is unsteady. "I'm pregnant," she whispers.

Jane drops the card, and it flutters to the floor without a sound.