Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Chapter 4

Love and respect

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As soon as the door fell shut with a soft 'click', Lisbon let her tears flow freely.

Without saying a word, Jane pulled her into his arms. She let herself sink against him, resting her head against his chest.

Of course, she knew that today wasn't the last time she would see the Rigsbys. She really knew that. Or at least, her rational side did. Her emotional side… Well, that was a different story. But even knowing they would see each other again didn't make the farewell any less difficult. During the meeting and the conversation with Grace, she had pushed thoughts of saying goodbye out of her mind as best she could. For a while, it had worked. There had been enough distractions.

Now that the moment of goodbye had come and gone, she felt… empty. Not that aimless emptiness you felt when you didn't know what to do. No, it was a different kind of emptiness.

The feeling that something - someone - was missing in life. Maybe the ground wouldn't immediately give way beneath your feet. Life went on. But the foundation was shakier, had gaps, so to speak, and had lost a bit of stability.

Involuntarily, her fingers gripped tighter into the fabric of Jane's shirt, as if she needed to reassure herself that he was actually there with her.

Silly, really. She knew he wouldn't leave her, them, their little family to be. Wouldn't run away. ("At least not for the time being," said the little voice in the back of her mind. She did her best to ignore it. "I trust Jane," she countered the voice in her head, trying to silence it once and for all.) But that was the problem with abandonment issues: they didn't care about reality and were rarely rational.

It didn't help that, even under normal circumstances, saying 'farewell' to a beloved family member was never easy. Even if it was only for a few hours or days.

Of course, her old team might not have been her family in the traditional sense. Neither shared blood nor a shared childhood bound them together.

Nevertheless, every single one of them was part of her eccentric, chaotic family. She had spent more time with them over the past few years than with her 'real' family. Together, they had laughed, argued, and made up. They had weathered joy and sorrows together, and yet they had always stuck together. She could rely on them unconditionally. That was what family meant to her.

"God, I miss them both so much," she finally voiced her thoughts, more to herself than to him. Although she tried to suppress it, she felt her lips begin to tremble slightly.

The consultant pressed a gentle kiss to her head and let his cheek rest against her hair.

"Me too," he murmured. His hand glided soothingly over her back, tracing absent-minded circles. "It won't be the last time we see them," he said, his words echoing her thoughts.

Maybe he'd read her mind. Maybe they were on the same wavelength. Maybe he was simply sharing her heartache. Maybe all three. Maybe neither of them.

Whatever it was, it made her immediately feel safe. Understood. Seen. It made her feelings feel valid.

"I know," she replied with a sigh. "But these damn hormones are making me sentimental."

To demonstrate, she wiped her face with her sleeve, almost defiantly. The soft fabric of her blouse greedily soaked up the moisture that had gathered in her eyes.

Surprised to actually find tears there, she stared at the dark, damp spots.

She shouldn't be that surprised by it, though, should she? After all, she had shed more tears in the last few weeks than in the twenty years prior.

Partly for valid reasons, such as anger or grief. Partly over the most absurd things.

Like centerpieces.

And it was getting kind of annoying.

It was this last category of her recent reasons for crying that slightly concerned her. If she was already feeling this emotional now... How on earth would she feel in, say, three months? At the mere memory of her emotional outburst, tears welled up in her eyes. This time, from sheer embarrassment.

Oh lord. What the hell was wrong with her--

"Couldn't even tell," Jane's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "On the outside, you're the definition of calm. You almost could've fooled me."

Tearing her gaze away from her sleeve, Teresa lifted her head slightly and blinked up at him. "Really?"

He leaned back, just far enough for her to see his face, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Asshole," she said without any real heat, rolling her eyes as she gave his side a playful pinch, only to press herself tightly against him once more.

He laughed. Not a loud burst of laughter, but a pleasant, deep, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest before slowly fading away.

It wasn't the bright, carefree laughter she loved so much; the kind she'd been lucky enough to hear almost every day lately. Nor was it the cheeky grin from just moments ago, that accentuated his deepening laugh lines and made his eyes practically light up.

This laugh was different. Quieter. More intimate. Something unique. Something that existed solely between the two of them and belonged to no one else. Something that didn't show itself on the outside, but could only be felt through touch.

She liked this laugh.

Content, she snuggled closer to him.

They stood like that for a while. She listened to the steady beat of his heart. Felt the rhytmic rise and fall of his chest. His thumb stroked across her back in irregular, absentminded motions.

Up and down. Up and down. Over and over again.

There was something soothing, almost hypnotic, about it.

She sighed. That was exactly what she had needed; what she had missed all evening. His arms around her. His scent, familiar and so unmistakably him, enveloping her like the last rays of sunlight on a cool summer evening.

She used to hate how much he noticed. Sometimes she still did. How he always seemed to know what she needed before she did. Noticing meant caring. Caring meant feelings. And feelings were complicated. Not as complicated as they used to be, not anymore, but a part of her always seemed to wait for the other shoe to drop. For the eventual wave of overwhelming feelings that she had come to associate with Jane.

This was not one of those times. Now, she just felt safe. Even though he noticed. Maybe because of it, even.

Bit by bit, the tension inside her began to ebb away. Her tears dried up, and her breathing slowed. Her eyelids grew heavy.

She swayed.

For a brief second, she teetered on the verge of losing her balance, but Jane effortlessly caught her weight against his body. She took a deep breath before forcing her eyes open and (reluctantly) pulling herself out of the embrace. Blinking languidly a few times, she cleared the fog of sleepiness from her mind.

When she looked up at him, she met his caring gaze. He gave a faint smile and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face before breaking the silence. "Come on. Let's have some tea--"

"You're enjoying the fact that I have to drink less coffee, huh?" she interrupted him with a yawn.

"--and then it's off to bed for you. After all, I'm supposed to take care of my 'drunk wife', to quote Rigsby."

He seemed to ponder for a moment.

"Which reminds me… Since I happen to know that you are completely sober - would you care to explain where that lovely color on your face came from earlier, when Rigsby and I got back?"

So he had noticed. Of course he had. That damned blush on her face, that Grace's prying questions had brought on.

"I was wondering how long it would take for your curiosity to get the better of you. You're becoming predictable, mister," she smirked, in an obvious attempt to distract him from the subject at hand. To her astonishment, her blatant diversion tactic actually seemed to work. Just not quite in the way she had expected.

"Oh no, we can't have that," he said, and unceremoniously swept her up into his arms. A surprised sound escaped her - half laugh, half startled squeak - as she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on. With an ease that both impressed her and made her feel a little nervous, he carried her bridal-style toward the bedroom.

"Watch it!" she teased breathlessly once she had somewhat recovered from the initial shock. "If you break something, I'm not visiting you in the hospital."

"We both know that's not true." He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, like something fragile that might shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest wrong move. "And now, stay put, woman. I'm going to make us some tea."

If Jane had his way, she'd likely spend the next few months drinking steaming cups filled with sheer boredom until she dropped. Emphasis on: If Jane had his way. She (very quickly) came to the conclusion that she had a significantly better idea than tea.

Although her decision had been made, she swayed her head back and forth, humming thoughtfully, as if she were actually considering his 'order'.

He turned to leave.

She grinned. Her voice took on an unmistakably provocative tone. "What are you going to do if I don't?"

He froze mid-motion, his gaze snapping back to her.

"I believe we still have that one bit of unfinished business from earlier, don't we? You know… the thing you wanted to do before the meeting. Unless, of course, you're too tired and would rather just have some tea?"

She let the words hang in the air, leaving it to him to fill the silence. The tension between them was almost palpable, like the electricity in the air just before a violent summer storm.

His breathing quickened noticeably.

To add even more fuel to the fire, she playfully bit her lower lip, her eyebrows raised in challenge. One hand toyed idly with the top button of her blouse. Just in case the message hadn't gotten through to him.

It had. Oh, it definitely had.

His eyes darkened. He swallowed hard.

Then, he pounced on her.

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~ Meanwhile: Outside. Somewhere… in Austin. Probably. ~

After Rigsby had picked Grace up from the boss's house, they were now halfway to the hotel. At least, that was his guess.

 He wasn't even sure if this was the right way at all.

Grace had taken charge of the navigation (after all, the idea of ​​walking had been hers to begin with). Aside from a brief glance at the navigation app on her phone - accompanied by a few mumbled "Mmms" and some thoughtful squinting, followed by her pocketing said device - her 'navigating' consisted of (to him) seemingly random right and left turns, with the occasional straight stretch thrown in.

Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

A few streets back, when Grace had paused at an intersection for a few suspiciously long seconds to deliberate, he had cautiously asked her if she was absolutely sure where they were going or if he should perhaps check his own phone, just to be safe.

Or at least ask one of the few passersby they crossed paths with every now and then.

The look she had shot him in response had strongly reminded him of Lisbon's 'boss-glare', and he had made the (presumably wise) decision to shut his mouth.

At least the wind was no longer quite as biting as it had been an hour ago; the night air was now significantly more bearable, almost pleasant even, as if it had decided to show a little mercy to the few souls compelled to be out and about at this hour.

Outside the city, one might perhaps even be able to see the stars. Of course, the ubiquitous light pollution prevented that in Austin, just like in pretty much every other major city. Between neon signs and streetlights, the sky remained, instead, a dull orange-gray.

It didn't particularly bother him. He was a city boy, born and raised, and the phrase 'seeing stars' rarely carried any romantic connotation. It usually meant that brief, blinding moment following a hard blow to the head. Admittedly, that didn't happen all too often- even as a boy, his height had ensured that most people were intimidated. Or at least thought twice about it. His father's gang connections had done the rest.

For Grace, however, the expression had retained its original meaning. She had grown up in a more rural setting and, as a child, had spent countless nights gazing into the endless, dark depths of the night sky, keeping an eye out for shooting stars and other celestial phenomena.

He knew she missed that sometimes, so he never had any objections whenever, while visiting her family, she once again dragged him outside in the middle of the night to look at the stars together. Admittedly, it was kind of romantic.

That didn't mean, however, that he had suddenly transformed into a 'child of nature' (even if Cousin Yolanda had predicted exactly that upon their first meeting) and, in fact, he would have been all too happy to take a taxi. If only for the sake of better navigation than Grace's internal compass provided, and to be able to crash into bed within the next half an hour.

Grace, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their nighttime stroll, judging by the slight bounce in her step. The ends of the scarf Lisbon had given her bobbed along in perfect rhythm.

So who was he to deny her this small wish? He would follow her to hell and back if it meant spending time with her. If that meant a walk in the middle of the night, then so be it.

And the wind did indeed help to clear the veil of alcohol from his thoughts, just as his wife had predicted.

That was when he noticed: Grace was unusually quiet.

Especially considering how much alcohol she had consumed.

(He was the last person who should comment on that, though. If Cho hadn't reminded him that they were supposed to head to the airport early the next morning, they'd probably still be sitting in the bar. He and Jane had teased Cho, constantly devising increasingly elaborate schemes to get him a girlfriend. His personal favorite was organizing a staring contest. Several women, one rule: The one who managed to out-stare Cho had to be invited on a date. Cho had been, to say the least, not impressed. At all.)

Alcohol usually made his wife more talkative, not more silent.

Perhaps something was on her mind?

He shot her a sidelong glance. No. The way she kept walking beside him with that springy, almost jaunty step suggested otherwise.

"What are you thinking about?" he finally asked, after she had gone another few minutes without uttering a word. "You are quiet."

"Oh, not much," came the casual reply, though a... cheerful?... undertone resonated in her voice, as if she were physically trying to stifle a laugh. "Just that she is totally pregnant."

"Ah. Oka--"

Of course.

Wait... What?

He faltered, falling a step behind.

And blinked in confusion.

Had he missed something? Who were they talking about again?

"What? Who?", he asked. Not particularly creatively, but honestly at least.

Grace was probably rolling her eyes at his denseness. And not for the first time. But what was he supposed to do? He had absolutely no idea who she could be referring to. Had her friend from Sacramento called while she was out alone with Lisbon? What was her name again? Rory? Rosalee? Definitely started with an 'R'.

Granted, she already had a whole herd of kids, but that wasn't necessarily a disqualifier.

"Renee?", he asked, deciding that since he was probably wrong anyway, he might as well just pick a random name. Who knows? Maybe it would be a lucky guess.

"Rachel. And no, she's not the one I'm talking about."

Okay. So, not a lucky guess. Too bad. "Who, then?"

If Grace hadn't rolled her eyes by then, she definitely did so now.

"Lisbon. Lisbon is pregnant," she said, as if it were completely obvious.

He almost tripped again.

Staring at her, he caught up to her side.

Huh. That hadn't been on his bingo card for this year. And it didn't make any sense, did it? Unless...

"Did she say something?"

"Nope? Not really."

He frowned. Now he was even more confused, if that was even possible. "Then what makes you think that?"

"Just a feeling. It's a woman thing." She shrugged, as if that were explanation enough. It wasn't. Not even remotely.

Did Grace perhaps have a fever?

Suppressing the urge to place his hand on her forehead to check her temperature, he asked instead: "Wouldn't Cho and I have a feeling about Jane if he was going to be a father?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're men."

"Ah, nice, thanks a lot."

She winced. "That's not what I meant. It's just…" Grace made a vague gesture with her hand, searching for the right words. The movement was clumsier than it would have been had she been sober. "For one thing, there are these changes during pregnancy that a woman's mind and body go throu--"

"Yeah. Okay. I get it. TMI." He gave a slight shudder, as if he could physically shake off what had just been said.

"Oh, come on!" Grace pressed on, unfazed by his obvious discomfort. "You have two kids. You should be familiar with a woman's physical--"

"Yes," he interrupted his wife quickly, before that line of thought could unfold any further. Of course he'd noticed that Lisbon was a woman. He wasn't stupid, after all. And he wasn't blind either. But she was also the boss (THE Boss!) and he was on the verge of covering his ears and singing 'La-la-la-la-la' if Grace kept talking about their former boss's 'mind and body.'

"But we're talking about the Boss here," he added.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind: the perfect counterargument!

"And... She drank alcohol earlier, didn't she? Jane made such a big deal out of it." Confident of victory, he presented this irrefutable fact to her, ready to watch her theory crumble in on itself.

She reacted calmly.

"Yeah, exactly. As a distraction." Her tone revealed that she still firmly stood by her hunch. "Man, you worked with Jane several years longer than I did. You should really know how his mind works by now." As she walked, she absentmindedly kicked a small stone on the path.

Should he try to justify himself? Honestly, he couldn't think of anything appropriate to say.

Instead, he watched the stone as it skipped across the asphalt, eventually rolling to a halt in a small pothole surrounded by larger hollows in the pavement.

That was exactly how he imagined Grace's train of thought right now: seemingly haphazard, hopping from one idea to the next, and finally settling on just one of many possibilities.

Cho might have scoffed at him for his poetic insight, but he thought it was actually a pretty good one. Especially considering he'd come up with it all on his own, while under the influence of alcohol and exhaustion. Maybe he should even write it down.

Once he'd gathered enough of these insights, he could publish them under the title 'Rigsby's Guide for All Occasions'. He could always work on the title later, of course.

Wait. Where was he?

Oh, right. An argument in his own defense. He racked his brains. Huh. Still a gaping void.

Grace cleared her throat. Judging by her furrowed brows, it wasn't the first time she'd done so. Apparently, she had been elaborating on her theory in a one-sided conversation.

Graciously, she repeated it for him in response to his evidently bewildered expression, sparing him the awkwardness of having to ask her to do so.

"As I was saying, I tried the cocktail the Boss was drinking earlier tonight. Thinking back, I'm not even sure if it had alcohol in it. In any case, I wouldn't rule out that it was non-alcoholic." She shrugged. "I mean... Why else would Jane try to hide what kind of cocktail Lisbon was drinking?"

"Okay, that is a bit suspicious," Rigsby had to admit. "Assuming it's true," he added hastily, before Grace could interpret his statement as full agreement. "But it's Jane. The guy is just sometimes..." He searched for the right words and landed on: "weird?"

"Are you serious?"

"All I'm saying is: We've both had a bit more to drink tonight than usual, and sometimes things get… misinterpreted."

"Uh-huh. Misinterpreted," she repeated.

Oops.

"Okay. That sounded too harsh. Um." Swallowing hard, he raised a hand placatingly. "What I meant was… Aren't the Boss and Jane a little old to be having kids?"

"They're in their early forties. Not our grandparents." Grace laughed out loud and linked her arm through his.

That was a close call. He was off the hook.

For now.

"There are people who have kids much later in life," she continued. "Remember that guy who hired us to bug-proof his smart fridge? He became a father when he was in his fifties."

Oh yeah, he remembered that guy. A real oddball. Had insisted on calling him 'Wayne Wigsby' because alliterative names supposedly spread 'better vibes' throughout his house. At least the guy had paid damn well. For that kind of money, he probably would have let himself be called 'Wiggling Worm' too.

And at least they hadn't been forced to wear tinfoil hats. Like his gardener.

Be that as it may, Grace was right, and her point wasn't entirely without merit. People had kids at all sorts of ages. Whether they should or not.

"That still doesn't mean they'd immediately... I mean, they just got married."

"As if not being married stops people from engaging in certain activities," she giggled. Before she even said it out loud, he knew exactly what she was getting at. "Or what about Ben?"

He felt the heat creeping up from the back of his neck to the very tips of his ears and cleared his throat. "That still doesn't prove anything."

"Alright then. Guess what Lisbon said when I mentioned that Jane would make a good father."

Rigsby shrugged. "No idea."

How was he supposed to know? He wasn't the mentalist on the team, after all. And it wasn't like he believed in psychics, either. (Though truth be told, he wasn't entirely convinced that Jane couldn't actually read minds.)

"She said: 'He will be.'" His wife sounded even more excited now (if that was even possible), as if she had just handed him THE one argument that explained everything. The final piece of the puzzle that would complete the picture.

Unfortunately, he had to disappoint her. He still just didn't get it. To him, the puzzle was just a pile of disconnected pieces she had dumped out in front of him, and he was desperately trying to fit them together. Without the picture on the box.

"That's weird because...? I mean, that's what people say, isn't it?"

"No." Grace shook her head vigorously, her hair and the ends of her scarf following the motion. "'He would be' is what people would normally say. Lisbon said: 'will'. 'He will be.' Not a hypothetical 'would'."

Rigsby was anything but convinced. "Maybe it was a slip of the tongue?" It happened, right? People misspoke all the time in the most awkward situations. Sure, every now and then, there was a Freudian slip that had turned the tables on a suspect in more than a few interrogations. He highly doubted, however, that this was the case here. There was no way Lisbon was pregnant. Grace had to be wrong.

"Nope. She's pregnant. I'm not wrong about this," Grace continued, as if she had read his mind.

Uncanny.

For a split second, the image of Grace wearing one of Jane's three-piece suits and performing a card trick for him, flashed before his eyes.

Equally uncanny. He shuddered.

Or she was simply picking up right where he had left off. No mind-reading required. That, of course, made much more sense.

"And she knows it," she concluded her line of reasoning with a decisiveness that resembled a law carved in stone.

"That's your hard proof."

"Yep."

"And you're willing to die on that hill?"

"Just you wait! In a few weeks, they'll tell us there's a mini-Jane on the way." She sounded pretty confident for someone who, in his eyes, was betting on a dead horse.

Maybe there was something to her hunch after all?

On the other hand... he was more than sure of his case. There was only one way to settle this.

He stopped dead in his tracks, a sly grin on his face.

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure. Why not." She solemnly extended her hand, and he shook it just as solemnly. To an outsider, they must have looked almost like wealthy (albeit slightly crazy) business people who had just closed the deal of a lifetime. Good thing they were alone here. Wherever 'here' was.

"You are so going to lose!" Grace added, starting to walk again, her red hair billowing behind her like a veil. Then she paused mid-stride and turned back to face him.

"To keep things fair: Let's ask Cho, too. That way we're an odd number, and we'll have a clear winner."

Ha! With every word, she dug her own grave a little deeper. Cho was bound to be on his side. The winning side!

"Agreed."

Still grinning, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialed, and put it on speakerphone.

It rang twice. Then Cho answered.

"Cho."

The agent's voice sounded muffled. Tired. Something rustled in the background. If Rigsby had to guess, he was probably lying in bed; a book in his hand, on the verge of falling asleep. At least it wouldn't surprise him if that were the case. Back in their CBI days, he had slept in the same room with him often enough to know the guy's bedtime routine by heart.

"Hey, buddy."

"Hey, guys. Still not at the hotel?" He must have heard the cars passing by. Or (correctly) assumed that their late call could only mean they were wandering helplessly somewhere through Austin. (Grace, of course, would have argued she knew exactly where they were.) Otherwise, a quick text message would have sufficed to signal their arrival at their accommodation.

"No." Rigsby shook his head. A reflex that was completely useless, since Cho couldn't see him anyway. "Someone insisted that we walk back."

He shot his wife a telling look, eyebrows raised. It was met with an unfazed shrug.

"Okay," came Cho's reply. Silence filled the line. When neither of them spoke, he asked: "Why are you calling?"

"We have a question," Rigsby began cautiously. His eyes were still fixed on Grace, who had started rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet with excitement.

"About Lisbon and Jane," the redhead added quickly.

Imaginary crickets chirped.

Then: "Do I want to know?"

Good old Cho. Always the skeptic.

"Grace thinks Lisbon is pregnant. I disagree."

"I think it makes sense." Grace leaned closer to the phone, as if that would make her argument more convincing. "The two of them were acting strange tonight."

"They're Jane and Lisbon," came the dry reply. "They're chronically strange. I'm with Rigs: No way."

Before he could stop it, the tall ex-agent's grin widened involuntarily. "Thanks, buddy!"

Turning to Grace, he said, "See?"

"Men!" Grace muttered indignantly, crossing her arms. Though 'muttering' wasn't quite the right word, seeing as she made sure both of the parties in question heard her exclamation.

She didn't seem truly angry, though, because seconds later, the competitive spirit flickered in her eyes again.

"So… we made a bet. Want in? The usual rules. Money - or the loser has to do what the winner wants," she announced, hands planted on her hips and wearing an expression that practically screamed she was the one going to win. Someone clearly didn't know when to quit...

On the other end of the line, there was a brief, contemplative hesitation.

"Sure," Cho finally replied, his voice muffled, as if he were trying to suppress a yawn. "Fifty bucks. Is that it?"

Rigsby glanced over at Grace questioningly, half expecting her to add some further stipulation. She didn't, simply shaking her head.

"Yep. That's it."

"Okay. Night." Pragmatic as ever.

Another rustle. Then the line went dead.

With a broad, satisfied grin, Rigsby slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and continued on his way. Well, that settled that.

After a few steps, he realized Grace wasn't following him. He turned around. "What?"

His wife didn't answer right away. She just stood there. And looked around. Then she pulled out her own phone. Tapped on it a few times. The screen lit up, then went dark again.

She put the device away, making a face that fell somewhere between defiant and caught red-handed.

"My battery is dead," she began sheepishly. A stark contrast to her confident demeanor just a few minutes earlier. "And I think…" She spun around on the spot and then stopped. "… we're lost."

Disbelief distorted his features. He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape.

"What?"Defensively, she raised her arms. "I've never been here before. Besides, all the streets look exactly the same."

Rigsby let his gaze drift down the street. She wasn't wrong. An intersection. Houses that looked like carbon copies of one another. Another intersection. The same thing in the other direction.

He walked the few steps back to his wife. Slipping one arm around her shoulders, he pulled her closer to his side, using his other hand to fish his phone out of his pocket. Grace nestled against him, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek.

As if he could ever be mad at her. Crazy with worry? Yes. But mad?

Searching for some kind of landmark, his eyes scanned the street until he finally spotted a sign standing lonely at one of the intersections. Arm in arm, they walked toward it until he could make out the street name. One last glance at the number of the nearest house.

Then he called a cab.

He had gotten his way after all. Won a battle. Another still lay ahead. But he was sure that too was only a matter of time, and he would emerge victorious.

Famous last words, as he would find out a few weeks later.

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By now, all the lights in the Lisbon-Jane household had gone out. Only a single lamp on the nightstand bathed the bedroom in a warm, amber glow. Aside from the occasional rustle of the sheets and their gradually normalizing breathing, hardly any other sounds could be heard, as if the universe itself had unanimously decided that this little bubble of togetherness was too precious to be disrupted.

Jane lay in bed, Teresa resting on his chest. Her warm weight felt like a personal weighted blanket - comforting, yet never stifling. With her index finger, she lazily traced patterns, the meaning of which only she understood, upon the heated skin of his chest. Here and there, he could decipher a heart within her movements. Perhaps both of their initials, too.

The blond man sighed contentedly, smiling to himself. Letting himself sink deeper into the pillows, he closed his eyes and focused on her heartbeat. A steady rhythm he could feel beneath the palm of his hand, which rested against her bare back.

In his mind's eye, he reviewed the events of the day.

Rarely before had he experienced such an emotional side to Teresa Lisbon as he had today.

It was definitely in the top 10 (in close contention with the day before their wedding). It was really cute - not the seeing her in emotional distress, mind you, but how she tried (and spectacularly failed) to keep her hormones in check. He just fervently hoped that, aside from the slight queasiness that had plagued her intermittently throughout the day, she would be spared from the other, less pleasant side effects of pregnancy. (He made a mental note to stock up on ginger ale and crackers. Just in case.)

Regarding the timing as for exactly when they had conceived, he had a pretty good idea. His wife agreed on the date. Yet, given their active love life, they couldn't be one hundred percent certain how far along she actually was (and whether further symptoms would soon appear) without consulting a specialist first.

That was something they hadn't talked about yet. He should probably bring it up with her soon. Along with many other things people usually discuss before welcoming a new member into the family.

For many of those things, there was still time. Like what color the nursery should be (provided he managed to get the house ready for them to move in on time). Or baby names. (Just to tease her, he would make sure to memorize the most ridiculous names he could think of. Names like Eugenia-Petunia-Geraldine had a nice ring to it. Or Paris-Orion. That name worked for a boy, as well.)

To say he was looking forward to all these conversations would be a massive understatement. But they could wait.

For now, he was content to just lie here, listening to her breathing, and thinking about what a lucky bastard he was.

Yet there was one thing he couldn't resist bringing up. Something that hadn't left his mind since the moment she'd said it.

"Earlier, you called me 'honey'."

"Yeah." Hesitant, as if she wasn't sure where he was going with this. Her hand paused for a fraction of a second in stillness before resuming its movements.

He hummed contentedly before opening his eyes. "In front of everyone else."

She looked up, watching him through her lashes. A hint of embarrassment lingered in her expression, mixed with something playful. It never ceased to fascinate him how she, the tough Agent Lisbon, could transform back into the shy Catholic schoolgirl in the blink of an eye. Which wasn't to say she was prudish. She was anything but, as he could attest after the thorough 'research' he'd conducted over the past few months. Oh, he could write poems - scratch that, entire ballads - about the things she could do with her--

"I... I call you that when we're alone," she interrupted his steamy thoughts. Good call. "It just... slipped out." He felt her shrug more than he saw it as she let her head sink back down.

Leaning closer, he breathed a kiss into her hair and added quietly, "Well, I liked it."

In response, she made a barely audible sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, but did not elaborate on her thoughts.

Silence settled over them like a blanket of winter snow, swallowing every sound and making time stand still beneath it.

Somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog howled at the moon, quickly decided it wasn't worth the effort (or realized it wasn't a wolf), and fell silent again.

With a sigh, Jane let his head sink back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling. The day itself hadn't been particularly exhausting. Aside from 'newlywed stuff', a quick shower together, and heating up last night's leftovers, they hadn't done anything that could be considered strenuous apart from meeting up with their friends.

Nevertheless, he was tired, and not just because their last night (and the one before it) had, for some reason, been noticeably cut short... Maybe he simply wasn't that young anymore, and the exertions of the past few days and weeks were finally catching up with him.

Not for the first time, he wondered if it was worth it. This daily risking of lifes just so there was one less murderer or drug lord on the loose, only for someone new to step into their place the moment the arrest was made. Like a human hydra that would only rest once the immortal malice of humanity itself was destroyed.

He pushed the thought aside; didn't want to dwell on it right now. Bright side and seeing the good in everything. That's what he'd said himself.

So he focused on Teresa. His 'good in everything'.

Her breathing was calm, steady. It utterly captivated him, instilling in him a sense of inner peace that he only ever found when she was by his side. As if she were hypnotizing him without even trying. His eyelids grew heavier by the moment.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep, he wondered, after listening to her gentle breaths a little longer.

Contradicting that was her moving hand, which continued to wander lazily across his chest. But who knows, maybe she had developed the skill to caress him even in her sleep. He wouldn't object. Nor would it be the first time she had drifted off right in the middle of a conversation, stretched out across his body, following their evening activities.

Just as he was almost convinced that she was indeed asleep, he began to reach out with his free arm toward the bedside lamp as slowly and carefully as possible. Every muscle movement was consciously controlled, aimed at avoiding any unnecessary disturbance to the mattress that might carry the risk of waking her.

Inch by inch, his hand groped its way toward the lamp, but before his fingers could reach the switch, he received a late answer to his statement.

"Good to know." Her voice was raspy. Whether from emotion or fatigue was hard to define without seeing her face. He guessed a mixture of both.

Jane paused mid-motion.

So she had been barely awake after all. If only he had waited a few minutes longer, he thought, feeling a faint twinge of guilt. After all, she needed every minute of sleep she could get.

"But don't get used to it, honey," she added.

A grin played at the corners of his mouth. "So, no holding hands in the bullpen? And I assume a case-closed kiss in the interrogation room is off the table too, right?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. Her tone was firm; any signs of fatigue momentarily suppressed so she could make her stance perfectly clear. "To both."

"Mh." He pretended to give her 'instructions' serious consideration before pointing out what he felt was a crucial detail she needed to factor into her decision. "You do realize the entire office knows we're married, right? Half the staff was probably involved in the wedding, if only to intercept Keller. The other half surely got the full, blow-by-blow account in the break room the very next morning."

He felt a shudder pass through her body, evidently horrified by the prospect of potentially being the center of office gossip.

"For all they know," Lisbon said after some consideration, "it could have been an arranged marriage. Or I could let them believe I lost a bet. So… to avoid giving them any more fuel for gossip: no PDA in the office," she declared resolutely.

Jane theatrically clutched his chest. "Ouch. And here I thought you married me out of your undying love for me."

"I did. But our colleagues don't need to know that." Her fingers slowly traced a line across his collarbone, gliding lower until they reached the spot where his heart beat (for her). There, she let her hand rest, right beside his, which still lingered there in his feigned gesture of 'shock'. As if drawn by an invisible force, he reached for her fingers and enclosed her hand in his own, so gently, as if he were touching the finest porcelain. Which, given her fair complexion, might very well have been the case.

He felt her smile, warm against his chest. If he were a cat, this would be the moment he'd start to purr. But since he was, in fact, a human (at least last time he checked), he simply smiled like the fool in love he was.

"I guess I could be persuaded to hold hands," Lisbon finally conceded. "When we're in the car. Alone." She emphasized that last word with a sternness that could have made mountains crumble in fear and rivers change their course out of sheer respect for her. Lucky for him, he was neither one nor the other. Still, her tone gave him pause as the puzzle pieces in his head began to fall into place.

Ah. Right. He remembered the last time he had taken her hand in the car while they were on duty (and in fact NOT alone). Or rather, what followed.

The 'Cho Incident', as he liked to call it, was evidently still deeply ingrained in her memory. Though in his own defense, he felt compelled to point out that Teresa had been the one to kiss him, and in doing so, had forgotten about Cho's existence in the backseat for one brief, fateful moment. Had the initiative come from him, he would likely have been mourning the loss of some very essential parts of his anatomy by now. Starting with his head.

Despite this very real lingering fear of bodily harm, he wasn't exactly what one would call 'on board' with this bare minimum of affection. If you asked him, it bordered on cold withdrawal. Human cruelty! They were married. He knew his rights. The constitution guaranteed the right to bear arms, but he demanded the right to be in her arms. Exclusively and for life!

Guess he would have to find creative ways that met both of their needs, and, more importantly, didn't cause her any discomfort. Still, he wouldn't go too easy on her. Like it or not, she would have to resign herself to a fair share of teasing in their future.

Best to start right now. Not out of self-interest, of course, but to prepare her: "What happens if I don't agree to your terms? Because, frankly speaking, I find them rather... restrictive."

"Then I have a plan."

"Oh, right." A thoughtful nod followed, as if he were seriously contemplating her threat. "Banishing me to the couch for all eternity. Or until you think I've learned my lesson. Cute of you to think that would work on me."

He released her hand and playfully nudged the tip of her nose with his index finger. Lisbon crinkled her nose and let out an indefinable sound (which he would also describe as 'cute', under oath if necessary). "Or were you referring to your elaborate, meticulously thought-out plan for my unexpected 'spontaneous' demise?"

"What are you talking about?"

"So, back at the bar, you weren't contemplating where and how to dispose of my body?"

"I was not!" Oh, it was amusing how her suddenly high-pitched voice gave her away every single time.

"Yes, you most certainly were, my dear. Poor Cho, by the way. Making him an accomplice without even asking? That's not very nice, Teresa."

"How did you…?" She shook her head, as much as her current position allowed. Jane could well imagine her rolling her eyes, too. Just for good measure. "Right, I was going to stop asking that."

"You get this peculiar glint in your eyes whenever you're silently cursing me. Always have," he explained, sharing his deduction anyway. After all, he had agreed to be more open with her about such things. He had even made it a part of his wedding vows. (That, and the fact that he would always protect-slash-save her, whether she liked it or not, or was perfectly capable of doing so herself. At that particular part, she had glared at him, an unmistakable "I don't need saving" on her lips.)

"It wasn't hard to guess what was going through your mind," the consultant continued. "Murder is a bit of an extreme solution, if you ask me, though admittedly more efficient than being grounded to the couch. Besides, it was fairly obvious you were blaming me for our little unplanned tardiness--"

"So you admit we were late. Because of you."

"Meh. I wouldn't go that far." He shrugged. The scoff she let out in response could have made a horse jealous. "However, I do concede that my suggestion for a little quality time in the bedroom was poorly timed." His grin widened. "Fortunately, though, we've since made up for that."

With a single index finger, he traced a feather-light path along her spine. Goosebumps spread in an almost invisible trail beneath his touch wherever he grazed her skin, eliciting an involuntary shiver from her.

Teresa hummed softly. Then, her body tensed.

"I would never do something like that." Her voice was suddenly sober. The abrupt change in tone made him blink.

"The murdering part or the banishing-to-the-couch thing?" he asked casually, hoping to lighten the mood.

"You know what I mean. The murdering part," she clarified, still tense. "Intentionally hurting you."

"Of course I do," he replied, just as earnestly.

"Good." Her posture relaxed, and a hint of mischief returned to her voice. "The couch thing, on the other hand, was entirely serious. And if that really doesn't 'work on you' as you claim - though I'm sure it would - then…" A pause for dramatic effect. She was a quick learner. He was impressed. "Then we could always institute a tea ban in this house. I could dump your tea into our lake. An 'Austin Tea Party,' so to speak."

"Good one," he thought appreciatively.

Were it not for the looming loss of his beloved tea, he likely would have paid good money to watch Teresa stage a somewhat semi-historically accurate reenactment of a colonial act of protest. However, since the central act of the event involved said tragic loss of his favorite beverage, all he could manage was an indignant:

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, you bet I would. Hmm. Or a scrambled eggs ban. That sounds promising, too."

"You witch!" He groaned and dropped dramatically back into the pillows, his arms spread out like a starfish as if she had just shot him. Which she might as well have. First tea and then eggs? How else was he supposed to nourish himself? Coffee, salad, and a bear claw every once in a while? Poor him!

Another pitiful moan escaped his throat.

Aside from a stifled giggle, Teresa appeared completely unfazed and immediately continued. "Well, if you keep annoying me, keep in mind that - purely theoretically speaking - I have a plan. Several, actually, if we're being precise."

He snapped his head back up. "Does that mean I'm not allowed to ask what you and our dear Grace were talking about earlier? I could've sworn I overheard the words 'rant about Jane.' And my name happens to be 'Jane'..."

"Like you said: no questions from you, no answers from me. Happy wife, happy life, and all that crap."

"Oh, come on, Teresa," he whined, as if the words had deeply wounded him. "At least give me a tiny hint, so I won't lie awake all night with endless questions pounding inside my head. Constantly wondering which of my irresistible qualities of mine the highly esteemed ladies were discussing--"

"Stop it," she laughed, playfully nudging his ribs.

"Now I can add 'Grievous bodily harm' to my list of reasons for insomnia."

Teresa kept giggling, her whole body shaking with laughter. "You're such a crybaby, Jane."

"And a bruised ego to boot..." he continued in the most theatrical tone he could muster. "… seeing as my own wife doesn't care one bit about my well-being. Oh, just you wait. I'll give you something to laugh about. My revenge will be fabulous!"

"My revenge will be fabulous? What kind of phra--"

Before the sentence could reach its end, he pounced on her. His fingers dug into her sides, tickling her and effectively cutting off her air mid-word. Snorting with laughter, Lisbon doubled over; her arms and legs flailed uncontrollably as she tried in vain to escape his merciless hands.

"All right, all right!" she finally gasped between fits of laughter. "Stop it. I'll tell you."

He let go of her instantly. "I knew you could be reasonable."

"The short version," she qualified, catching her breath.

Always negotiating, his dear Lisbon. For a brief second, he toyed with the idea of tickling her again for that; but since by now she had settled back down halfway onto his chest and continued to caress his side, he abandoned the idea. He was firmly convinced she knew exactly what she was doing and how to manipulate him to distract him. Unfortunately for her, he could be damn stubborn.

"Well?"

"We mostly talked about you and me," she said, sounding almost a little pensive. "How we finally found our way to each other."

As she spoke, Jane noticed the goosebumps spreading across his wife's arm. The blanket must have slipped off during his 'attack.' Wordlessly, he reached for it, spreading it over both of their naked forms and smoothing it out. Satisfied with his work and with the two of them once again enveloped in a cocoon of warmth, he prodded further.

"My confession on the plane?"

"Yes. Your confession on the plane."

She fell silent, taking a deep breath.

Her fingers began to fidget with the fabric of the blanket, rolling the material back and forth between her thumb and index finger instead of continuing to stroke his skin. Frowning, he wondered what had suddenly gotten her so agitated.

The answer came shortly after.

"We talked about that," she said. "And about children. More specifically, OUR family planning. And…" She hesitated. "I think Grace suspects something."

Her assumption wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Grace was clever. And when drunk, she wasn't exactly the most discreet person.

"Mmh." He let out a thoughtful hum. That seemed to have been the wrong answer - if there even was a right one for this situation.

"You think she knows, too." Her breathing quickened, losing the steady rhythm he had been tracking so intently until now. "Oh god, what if something happens to the baby-- O-Or the test was wrong and I'm not pregnant and--"

She broke off mid-sentence, in one fluid motion, swung herself off him and into a sitting position.

As if in slow motion, he watched the blanket he had just carefully draped over her fall from her shoulders, pooling in the sudden gap between them.

He stared at the fabric.

And went still. What had just happened?

A mild panic seemed to be setting in, and if he wasn't careful, she would be on the verge of hyperventilating.

That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

After all, he himself had no reason to doubt that she was pregnant.

Even so, he was afraid.

His sudden freezing and the sharp spike in his heart rate when she hinted that something might be wrong with their child proved as much. The mere thought made his blood run cold, colder than the actual loss of the blanket or her warm body ever could.

But dwelling on things he couldn't influence anyway, or that lay entirely beyond anyone's control, would be a waste of time and energy. Calming her down - alleviating her worries on at least one front - was, however, within his power. So he made that his primary objective, focusing exclusively on the facts instead of losing himself in mere 'what-if' scenarios.

The trembling movement of Lisbon's hands running through her hair in frantic gestures finally completely snapped him out of his stupor.

"Hey, hey. Everything's going to be okay."

Following her lead, he sat up as well. Carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, so that they sat side by side, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

He made another attempt to pull the blanket up over her. She let it happen, yet despite the added warmth, he could still feel a slight tremor running through her body. At least she didn't pull away from him, which he took as a good sign.

"That's easy for you to say." Lisbon's voice mirrored her outward state. "You're not the one who might have jumped to conclusions. I got our hopes up a-and-- And--" A sound, not unlike a sob, escaped her throat.

Jane carefully nudged the blanket a little higher until her shoulders were covered as well, and began to stroke her upper arm with his thumb. Slowly. Steadily. Something she could hold onto, and that would hopefully have a calming effect on her.

"Jumped to conclusions?" he asked gently, his voice just as calm as his movements on her arm. "How many tests did you take? And don't tell me just one. I know you too well for that."

"Three." Sniffling, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, slowly lowering her head onto his shoulder.

He almost laughed, but bit it back so as not to rattle her any further. Of course she had taken three tests. To be absolutely certain. She had probably bought even more, only to decide after the third that the evidence was sufficient for the time being. Not for the first time, he regretted not having been there with and for her at that moment.

Three tests. One could have been wrong. Two tests with the same result could have been a coincidence. Three, however… provided enough certainty - for the moment.

Three.

That damned little number. It haunted him.

She had taken THREE tests. Soon they would be a family of THREE. He had been the THIRD guy to propose to Teresa (though there surely were bound to be others who had at least toyed with the idea). It had taken him about THREE years and THREE months after Red John's death to pull himself together and profess his love to her. The list could go on indefinitely. If he were to look closely, there would probably be THREE spiders lurking under their bed right now or hiding in the kitchen cabinet of the FBI breakroom. Or THREE coffee stains on the carpet under Teresa's desk.

Ever since Gabriel had told him about his 'lucky number', he had been spotting pairs of three everywhere. The pattern seemed to jump out at him at every turn.

Pure psychology, he knew that. The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. If you owned a yellow car, you suddenly saw yellow cars everywhere you looked. Rationally speaking, 'three' meant absolutely nothing. He might as well start looking for groups of four.

And yet…

He sincerely hoped that their one baby wouldn't turn out to be triplets, too. No question about it, he would love them and, as he would for their mother, lay the world at their feet, but he wanted to spare Teresa the strain. The mere thought of what carrying three babies at once would mean for her physically was enough to send a cold shiver down his spine.

Yet another reason to consult a professional. Soon.

He wasn't superstitious by any means - quite the opposite; he felt sorry for people like Gabriel - but... just... to be absolutely, POSITIVELY sure.

One baby was more than enough for the time being.

And he knew with absolute certainty that this baby did not exist solely in his and Teresa's hopes. There were simply too many counterarguments.

Starting with the three tests.

"Well, you see," he said, trying to inject as lighthearted a tone into his voice as possible. "One false positive test is can happen, I won't deny that. But the chance of three false tests? The probability of that must be roughly somewhere around one in a million."

She said nothing.

"Secondly..." he continued listing, "...your mood swings are a pretty dead giveaway. You're significantly more emotional than usual, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe."

She shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe? Teresa, you were tearing up yesterday just because I told you we were out of spaghetti and only had linguine left. When exactly was the last time you cried over pasta? At age four?"

"Linguine is just flat spaghetti," she mumbled tearfully, clearly not over the incident yet. "Why would anyone even invent such nonsense? It's absurd." The indignation in her voice was unmistakable.

Ignoring the subtleties of Italian pasta culture for the time being - he would have to circle back to that another time - he brushed a strand of hair from her face and let his fingers rest against her cheek. "Now tell me honestly that your eyes aren't welling up again."

She let out a soft, hiccuping laugh and pressed her face more firmly against his shoulder. The telltale damp patches she left on his skin in the process answered his question clearly enough.

A smile crept onto his lips. Yep. Not pregnant, my ass.

"Not to mention the… physical signs."

"Physical signs?" she sniffled in confusion, lifting her head just far enough to look at him suspiciously.

"Visual changes," he clarified with a grin.

"Oh."

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed that your bras fits a little tighter than usual. Plus, you have that pregnancy glow going on. It suits you, my love."

"You're imagining things. I would've noticed if my bra wasn't fitting the way it normally does," she muttered, casting a scrutinizing glance down at herself, in an attempt to be as 'inconspicuous' as possible. The blanket obscuring her view wasn't exactly helping her cause, so she simply frowned.

He suppressed another laugh.

Naturally, she chose to focus on the bra thing - it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she were to sneak off to the bathroom in the middle of the night just to check his theory -, completely ignoring the compliment in the process. Getting her to accept compliments would apparently remain one of his bigger long-term projects.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll show you just how much I noticed," he tried again, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're impossible." She rolled her eyes, the pasta-induced tears all but forgotten.

"And you are almost certainly pregnant."

"Okay," she said, nodding slowly, as if she had to carefully test the word out first and convince herself of its truth. Involuntarily, her fingers dug into his skin. He didn't mind the slight sting if it meant giving her something solid to hold onto.

Instead, he studied her. "Really okay?"

"Yes," she nodded, more resolutely this time. "Your arguments… do make sense."

Bashfully, her eyes wandered around the room, looking anywhere but at him. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face before her gaze found his once more. "I'm sorry for freaking out."

"You don't need to apologize. It only proves my second argument. And I am no stranger to handling haywire hormones."

After all, this wasn't the first time he'd been subjected to such outbursts. Memories of another life, what felt like a lifetime ago, washed over him. Warm and painful at the same time, though the pain had dulled with time. Yet it remained ever-present.

His first instinct was hesitation. To wait for the wave of grief that usually threatened to inevitably overwhelm him every single time he dared to think of THEM.

Somewhat surprised, he realized that it never came. Instead, he felt an overwhelming urge to share the memory with Teresa. Not out of necessity or because she had coaxed it out of him (which she would never do), but because he simply wanted to.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, his eyes fixed firmly on Teresa. "When Angela was pregnant, she once locked me out of the house because we only had one apple left. She wanted to eat two. You know… one for herself and one for the baby." He let out a snorting laugh. "Screamed at me through the door and everything. At two in the morning. I think the neighbors nearly called the cops on me."

Hearing about his experience seemed to calm her further. Amusement, showing itself in the fine crinkles around her eyes, replaced the tension and warmed her gaze. She watched him intently, almost motionlessly, as if holding her breath without realizing, anxious to hear how his story would end.

So, with a shrug, he went on. "She only let me back in after I'd driven all the way across the city and tracked down a whole bag of apples for her. Took me nearly two hours. And she didn't even like apples. Apparently, the baby didn't either. I ended up eating almost the entire bag myself," he concluded dryly. "Still better than picking a fight with a hormone-driven woman."

That made her laugh. "Must be the Jane genes. Not even born yet, and already specializing in driving people nuts and wrecking chaos."

"Angie said something like that, too."

"Smart woman. She was definitely right."

For a moment, they silently reveled in memories and thoughts.

Finally, Jane shifted his weight before addressing her last, still unanswered concern. "As for Grace: Let's just say I wouldn't rule out the posibility that she suspects something. She's clearly gotten better at reading people. Especially the ones she cares about."

"Great." Lisbon let out a soft, pained groan, though she didn't seem to spiral into absolute panic again. They were making progress. "I can fool the great mentalist, but one evening with my best friend and she's onto me. Even your little white lie with my 'special cocktail' didn't seem to stop her from seeing right through me like a pane of clear glass." Half amused, half resigned, she shook her head. "Keeping secrets apparently isn't my strong suit. Maybe I should consider a career change."

Jane didn't say anything at first. His gaze remained calm upon her, but inside, that treacherous flame of conflict flared up again - the very one that had driven him to make a terrible mistake by leaving her not even three weeks ago. He tried to smother it instantly.

If he were honest, he wasn't opposed to the idea of a career change. (Whether hers or his own, he wasn't entirely sure. Especially since he knew how much Teresa's job meant to her.) However, his reasons were far more complicated and would ruin the mood faster than he would have liked.

Mentally, he shoved the topic into the imaginary drawer in his head labeled 'Emotional stuff we need to talk about, but now is not the right time', which sat right next to 'Stuff we need to talk about before the baby arrives'. (The overlap between those two hypothetical boxes was disturbingly large.)

"Female intuition can be a pretty powerful weapon, and Grace has clearly mastered it," he settled on instead. "And if it puts your mind at ease: I believe Rigsby and Cho are as clueless as ever."

Lisbon's gaze remained fixed on his face as she processed the information, placing it within the context she already knew. She frowned. "But Grace said she AND Rigsby knew we'd end up together eventually."

"Do you honestly believe that realization originated with Rigsby?"

Teresa thought about it for a second. Then, shaking her head, she laughed. "No."

"Exactly." He studied her with a barely suppressed grin, already well aware of her reaction to his next statement. "And Cho thought we were like brother and sister."

She didn't disappoint. Instantly, she threw her head back, grimacing and squeezing her eyes shut as if the mere memory caused her physical pain. "Oh god, don't remind me. That was so damn awkward."

Awkward it had been, indeed. Though, mind you, only for Lisbon and Cho. The reaction of everyone else (himself included) he could safely classify as 'amused'. It was a good thing Cho had since been 'enlightened'. Otherwise, the revelation of their impending parenthood would likewise end in an awkward situation, or even give the poor guy a heart attack. There were surely other ways to fully exploit the potential of a speechless Cho upon the reveal… But he was getting ahead of himself. One thing at a time.

"What does that tell you overall? If Grace is the only one who might have had an inkling. And if not even I figured it out on my own?" he coaxed her to answer. The latter point, incidentally, remained a mystery even to himself.

The skin beside her eyes crinkled slightly, barely visible, yet distinct enough for to pique Jane's interest. Her lips were pressed together so tightly they nearly formed a thin line, and there was something in her eyes - just a brief flash - that he couldn't quite place. Was it mischief? But why?

He eyed her suspiciously.

She maintained the expression resolutely, schooling her features to appear as serious as humanly possible.

"Van Pelt has superpowers. She can read minds," she finally declared with a dryness that would have made Cho proud.

Playing along, he suppressed a laugh and instead nodded thoughtfully, as if the possibility had crossed his mind as well.

She joined in the nodding, both of them attempting, through sheer force of will, to keep a straight face.

"An interesting conclusion, Miss Lisbon," he replied in the most whimsical, pseudo-aristocratic accent he could muster. "Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement? Or better yet: perhaps at a private detective agency?"

"Ha-ha," she answered, utterly unimpressed.

"What? It's a recession-proof job. Idiots are everywhere."

"I know. I'm looking at one right now."

"Wow, that one hurt."

The grin that finally spread across his face suggested otherwise. It lingered for a few seconds, then faded slightly, the amusement in his expression giving way to a moment of thoughtful silence before he spoke.

"I'm serious." His voice grew quieter, less playful. "Don't worry about what Grace suspects or doesn't suspect. She is one of the few people on this earth who will always be on your side, no matter what our future holds. In fact, she doesn't judge either of us at all. She'll just be happy for you."

"I know," she agreed, conceding to him for the second time that evening. In a different context, it would have given him a certain quiet satisfaction. Now, however, he was simply glad that his role as the voice of reason was bearing fruit and easing her worries. At least for tonight.

"Good."

He made a move to settle her back into the far more comfortable sleeping position from earlier. With her lying atop his chest.

Her hesitation told him that the need to talk hadn't been entirely settled for the night. The furrow between her brows and the way she subconsciously worried her lower lip between her teeth confirmed his suspicion.

Jane paused in his tracks and turned toward her, allowing him to look deep into her eyes.

"Yes?" he prompted before she could open her mouth. His hand found hers beneath the blanket, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I hate it when you do that," she pouted. A very obvious attempt to avoid having to voice her thoughts.

Amused by her last-second distraction tactic, he indulged her. "No, you don't."

A defiant huff was her reply. "Yes, I do."

"I'm merely being an attentive husband."

"More like an attentive nuisance."

"Meh. Same difference." He let the teasing rest and looked at her patiently. "So…?"

His fingers brushed feather-lightly over her wrist, coming to a stop right where her pulse beat. Not exactly irregular, but he noticed a slight acceleration compared to her normal rhythm. She was undoubtedly apprehensive about his reaction. Needlessly so, he had to add. Which, of course, didn't make her feelings any less real to her.

"Maybe it's too early to be thinking about this..." The words left her lips rather hesitantly. "I know you don't care much for religion. And like you said, we don't know what the future holds--"

"Just spit it out, my love," he encouraged her patiently.

"I'd like to ask Grace to be our child's godmother. If you don't mind."

Jane looked at his wife in confusion. "Why would I?"

"Because of the reasons I just mentioned." A helpless shrug accompanied her answer.

One of his fingers slid beneath her chin, gently forcing her to lift her head.

"Teresa, just so we're clear: Even though I, as you put it, 'don't care much for religion'… I would never forbid you from having our child baptized or taking them to church with you. It's part of who you are. And I happen to love who you are."

His hand wandered to that familiar spot on her chest, just below where her collarbones met her sternum. There, where her cross and, more recently, his old wedding ring usually rested, his fingers now only felt bare skin. To avoid damaging the jewelry or accidentally strangling herself, she had taken it off before they had made love. Now, both items lay safely in a small bowl on her nightstand, yet his gesture retained the exact same significance as if she were still wearing them: a silent acknowledgment of her faith - not only in God, but also in him and their future together.

"If you want to share that part of yourself with our child, go for it. If you want to have our child baptized, then we'll have our child baptized. You could hardly make a better choice than our dear Grace."

Her face visibly relaxed. A small, grateful smile played around her lips.

"Thank you." Teresa placed her hand over his, lingering there as a sign of their silent understanding. Moments later, she enclosed his hand with her fingers, bringing it to her mouth to feather-light kisses against his knuckles. A deep sense of love and affection filled his heart, making his breath catch for a few seconds.

"Don't mention it. We're a team. Partners," he finally breathed out, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, feeling the smile beneath his fingertip. Fuck, she was so damn beautiful.

"That's part of you, Teresa. Why would I ever want you to hold that part of yourself back?"

"God, I love you." The impulsive kiss that followed cut off any chance of a reply as she fiercely pressed her mouth against his. Her hands slid to the nape of his neck before burying her fingers deep into the curls at the back of his head. She tugged at them demandingly, effectively drawing him even closer to her.

Every fiber of his body reacted instantly to the touch, and he returned the kiss with all the fervor he could muster. For a few precious seconds, his mind went completely blank; the feeling of her kissing him filled his whole existence.

Only when she pulled back a fraction, breathing heavily - her face close enough for him to feel her hot breath on his skin - did he find his voice again.

"By the way, you don't have to call me God," he murmured, his low laugh vibrating against her lips. "Patrick is perfectly fine."

In response, she leaned back and aimed a playful swat at his upper arm.

She wouldn't land the blow, however, as he saw the attack coming and caught her hand with a smirk. His fingers closed gently but firmly around her wrist before he pressed a brief kiss into her open palm.

He couldn't resist letting out an "Ouch," though, even if she technically hadn't hit him. But since he had never been a big fan of such semantics, he added a "That hurt!" purely on principle.

"Shut up, Jane."

"I love you, Teresa."

Her expression softened, losing every trace of sternness as a warm smile lit up her face. "I love you too, Patrick."

"Oh, come here," he said, a catch in his voice. Admittedly, whenever she called him by his first name, he found himself getting a little choked up. And this time, he was perilously close to tears. The latter, of course, was entirely due to the late hour, he told himself. (Or perhaps pregnancy hormones were contagious after all?)

Whatever the real reason might be, he could no longer bear the few inches separating them. That tiny gap felt wider than the Grand Canyon. (He ought to know, having visited it not too long ago.)

Teresa seemed to feel the same way, for when he opened his arms in an inviting gesture, she willingly snuggled against him until her leg lay halfway draped over his hip and her arm rested across his chest.

After planting a gentle kiss on the bare skin where his neck met his shoulder, she buried her face against his chest, her breathing gradually slowing down.

A blind reach for the nightstand lamp, and the room sank into darkness. In the pale glow of the streetlights filtering sparsely through a gap in the curtains, he could just barely make out the silhouette of his wife. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and gave her a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

Seconds later, Teresa was fast asleep - a content smile on her lips, accompanied by a soft snore. Her happy expression was mirrored on his own face as shortly thereafter he followed her into the land of dreams; dreams of their future together.

THE END