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I do not own any of this, and I'm dang sure not making any money on it. No copyright infringement is intended.

AN: This chapter's a little angsty, and much longer than my usual fluffy fare. After I got it done, I realized it was the right place to end this series, so please consider this a sort of "double episode" finale to Partners.

The title is from the old Hall and Oates song, "Private Eyes," and the POV switches back and forth between Lisbon and Jane. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for sticking with this long series – it's been fun to write.

A huge shout out to Fiasco Way for your invaluable feedback on this installment. Your comments improved it immensely.

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LISBON

Teresa Lisbon finished off her yogurt and granola as she watched Jane pilot spoonfuls of oatmeal into the moving target of their son's open mouth. Nine months old today, Christopher was sitting well in his high chair now, and he squirmed impatiently, slamming his sticky fists onto the plastic tray in front of him.

"Mo!" he exclaimed (one of his four words) as he clamored for the next mouthful.

"Dad's working as fast as he can, young man," Jane sighed. "You seem to have inherited your mother's capacity for patience." He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye.

"Shush," she retorted, grinning. "Hard to believe he's nine months old."

"Indeed."

She took another sip of coffee, mulling over whether she should say anything. Yes, her gut told her. "You know I'm a couple of days late…" she ventured. They would like another child, but they knew the odds were against them – she was forty one.

Jane raised his eyebrows. This had happened a couple of months back, and they both knew better than to get too excited.

"Let's give it…" he began.

Lisbon's phone buzzed, interrupting. "Hey, Cho." She listened for a minute. "Sure, I'll be there in…twenty minutes."

Jane squinted his eyes between deliveries of oatmeal. That was Jane's version of a question.

"Cho wants me to meet the team on location," she explained. "Gotta go."

She was out of her chair in a jiffy. She reached over to give their son a careful kiss on the top of his head, avoiding the oatmeal disaster area of his front side.

"Bye baby, mama has to go to work." Then she gave Jane a kiss and grabbed her coffee. "If this case gets all wrapped up today, we'll have the weekend free for sure."

"Hope so. Maybe we could go to the zoo," he called after her as she slipped out the door, and she heard another insistent "Mo!" as the door clicked shut. She laughed to herself. She wasn't sure who enjoyed trips to the zoo more, Christopher or his dad.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

She caught every red light in Austin's gnarled traffic, and after twenty minutes lapsed, she called Cho. "I'm still five minutes out – the traffic is horrible."

"The teams are already set up. You're coming from the east – why don't you join Austin PD's team on that side. They're off of Cottonwood. It's closer to you."

"Will do."

A few more stops and turns, and finally she was parked. She located the group of uniforms and identified herself.

"We're waiting on the word from Agent Cho," APD's Officer Harrod told her as she pulled on her vest and joined the group. The word came not two minutes later. "Go! Single file," Harrod ordered as he waved the group forward. She fell in line behind him.

Weapons drawn, they advanced to the sliding metal door on the east side of the warehouse, cut the lock, and moved into the murky interior of the building one by one. The eerie quiet didn't last long.

The pop of gunfire erupted and then all hell broke loose. Bullets whizzed by her and shouts came from what seemed like all sides. She leaped for cover behind a big metal beam, but the man in front of her and the man behind her both fell to the concrete floor with a thud, lying motionless.

She fired off half a magazine of shots in the direction of the opposing fire and then yelled, "Cho? Cho! Two of ours down on the east side."

There was another flurry of gunfire, and then she heard the voices of Cho and Branch.

"Down on the ground."

"Do it. Now!"

A couple of minutes later Cho yelled, "All clear!"

She peeked around the beam toward the two injured men to confirm the situation was under control. Then she ran to the closest man, only to see a bullet hole squarely between Officer Harrod's open eyes. Sucking in a breath, she moved to the second downed cop. He was alive, but bleeding badly from a wound in his lower abdomen.

"It's okay," she soothed as she knelt beside him. "You're gonna be okay – the paramedics are on the way." She applied pressure on the wound as best she could, but it was extensive.

Cho approached her at a jog. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." She motioned toward the dead cop with her head and then shook it. Cho understood.

Much to her relief, the paramedics arrived promptly, and soon the injured officer was whisked away, sirens blaring. Stoic, she walked back to her car and used her half drunk cup of coffee to rinse the blood off of her hands. She sure didn't need to get bloodstains inside her personal vehicle.

She'd only driven a few blocks when it hit her – that coppery smell of congealed blood emanating from her soiled shirt. As she reached for the switch to lower her window, her hand was trembling, so she pulled into the shady parking lot of a closed restaurant. She shoved the car into park but didn't kill the engine. This wouldn't last long – it never did.

But things were different now. She had a child. He depended on her. What if she wasn't there for him?

Stop it, she admonished herself. He won't be an orphan. He has a good father. If something happened to her, she knew Christopher would be well cared for. And so she was able to fall back on her timeworn philosophy that to worry about things like this simply wasn't productive.

The incident was over – thinking about 'might have been' didn't serve any purpose whatsoever. Her hands were steady again, so she put the car back in gear and pulled back out into traffic. She could die in a car wreck on the way to the FBI, she reminded herself. Why spend time worrying about things like that?

As she drove to work, however, she realized she now faced a significant dilemma. Would she – should she - tell Jane that any of this happened? Would he even want to know?

She was unharmed, after all, and telling Jane would only cause him to worry. He seemed to have gotten over his fears, or at least he'd found some way to cope with his knowledge of the risks of her job. The subject hadn't come up between them for ages. If she told him what had happened today, would his anxieties return in full force? She didn't want that. She really didn't want that.

The last time Patrick Jane got spooked, he got in that stupid Airstream and disappeared off to the Grand Canyon. Of course, he wouldn't do that now. He wouldn't leave Christopher, for starters. But he could take the little boy with him…

Now you're being stupid, she chided herself. Jane wouldn't do that - she was sure of it. But how would he react? His wedding day promise to look on the bright side hadn't truly been tested yet – she'd been on desk duty while she was pregnant, and she'd only been back in the field for six months. This was the first close call she'd experienced since they'd been married.

While today's events had shaken her briefly, Lisbon wasn't worried about herself. Nah, she could handle this. She'd put this incident in a box with all the other similar ones she'd experienced over the years and lock it away. It might not please the psychiatrists, but that was her coping mechanism, and it worked for her. Jane was an entirely different matter.

Lisbon was still mulling the problem when she arrived at her desk at the FBI. She opened a drawer and yanked the clean shirt out of her "go" bag she kept at the office. Luckily her spare shirt was white, very close in appearance to the stained one she was wearing. She went to the restroom and shed her bloody garment. But instead of soaking it, she stuffed it straight into the trash can. At that moment, she realized she was seriously considering lying – by omission – to her husband.

How many hundreds of times had he done the same thing to her – to protect her? How was this any different? There was no point in telling him, she told herself. What possible good could it do? She donned the clean shirt and tucked in the shirttail with a decisive shove.

While she was in the ladies' room she decided to relieve herself, and it was then that she discovered she had started her period. Her eyes filled with tears even though she knew good and well she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up so early. And she certainly shouldn't have said anything to Jane, she lamented. Maybe next month. She straightened up, dabbed her eyes with some toilet paper, and headed back out to her desk.

She spent the rest of the day pretending to work on her computer while attempting to devise an airtight plan to keep Jane from finding out about her close call. She could leave work early and order take out so that he wouldn't listen to the evening news while he made dinner. And tomorrow, they could go to the zoo. By Sunday any news of the event would be long gone from the major news outlets. It could work. It would work. She'd kept secrets from him before, and she could do it again. Besides, this time it was for his own good.

On the way home, however, she had a change of heart. Guilt about her planned deception weighed heavily on her – and besides, Jane would know something was wrong. Although, she countered, if she told him she wasn't pregnant, he would assume that that was what was wrong. Yes, that might work. Her scales tipped back onto the "don't tell" side. She desperately wanted to spare Jane from going back to being paralyzed with fear about her work.

No. She took a deep breath. She would not lie to her husband. That wasn't the kind of person she wanted to be – hadn't she demanded honesty from him in no uncertain terms? She would tell him she wasn't pregnant, of course, but then she would tell him she'd had a close call today, and that two other officers had been shot. She didn't need to give more detail than that. By the time she arrived home, she'd decided that honesty was the best policy, and she would just have to hope he didn't overreact.

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JANE

He and Christopher spent most of their glorious spring morning outside. The child rode well in the baby backpack while Jane added detail to his plans for a boat dock and small garden area.

In between planning, there was plenty of time to allow the little boy to crawl in the dirt and grass – one of his favorite activities. And when Jane helped him stand, walking him around and around by his hands, he found Christopher's chortles of pure glee to be the most marvelous sound in the universe.

During his afternoon nap, Jane took the baby monitor out to the pond and made a bit of physical progress, setting one of the posts that would anchor the structure of the boat dock to shore.

When the baby woke and Jane returned to the house, he noted a text on his phone.

Case done, getting off early. Will be home by 4:30 with pizza. Jane smiled broadly at that bit of good news. He and Christopher could spend the rest of the afternoon outside as well.

XOXOXOXOXOX

Jane knew something wasn't quite right the moment she walked in the door, but experience told him he shouldn't ask right away. She traded him the pizza for the baby, and Christopher flapped his arms, cooing with excitement. He was always happy when his mommy came home from work..

Then she announced she was going to go change, so Jane took the child back and put him in his beloved bouncy seat. He'd already fed him his supper in hopes that he and Teresa could eat their pizza in relative peace. That plan worked well tonight, and soon they were enjoying their tasty pepperoni and mushroom pie.

He told her how excited he was about his progress on the pier and bragged about Christopher's accomplishments over the course of the day. But he was careful not to ask her how her day had gone. By this point, he knew that she knew that he knew something wasn't right, and was simply allowing her to choose the moment.

Eventually, she got around to it. "I started today." She paused for a long second of silence. "I'm…not pregnant."

There were no tears, but he could see she was bitterly disappointed. So that was it. She'd allowed herself to hope too soon. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We've only been trying for four months."

"I know. I was just hoping."

"I understand," he said, touching her hand to his lips.

"How about if I play with Christopher for awhile, and you can go read on the porch or something?" she suggested.

He started to protest.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "It'll cheer me up, and you need a break. And let's go to the zoo tomorrow, whaddaya say?" She got up and removed the baby from his bouncy seat, much to the child's delight. "Mama! Mama!" he squealed, putting his arms around her neck.

She had a point, Jane noted. There was no antidepressant like playing with a happy child. "I'll clean up dinner then," he offered.

"Deal. Around seven I'll give him his nightcap and get him to bed, and we can do our flashback Friday out on the porch. I've got a funny one for you tonight."

Teresa was disappointed about not being pregnant again, but he understood she would soldier on. The truth was, it probably bothered her more than it bothered him. Wishing for another child made him feel greedy. While he would love another child or ten, having one was more than he'd ever dared to dream of, and would be more than "enough" if that's how things worked out.

So tonight he would happily comply with her plan, and go along with whatever she needed to get past this. Soon the kitchen was clean. He carried a cup of tea and his copy of "Boat Docks for Amateurs" out to the screened porch and made himself comfortable.

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LISBON

Once Christopher was asleep she pulled on a sweater, poured a couple of glasses of wine, and headed out to join Jane on the porch. He was wedged comfortably on the couch, absorbed in his book – the picture of contentment. When he heard her approaching, he looked up with a pure and delighted smile. And in that moment, she knew she wasn't going to say a word about nearly being killed today. She couldn't bring herself to pop that bubble of happiness.

"You wore him out today. He went down without a fight," she said.

"We did stay busy." His eyes shone as he remembered his day.

She settled onto the couch beside him. Satisfied he suspected nothing further, she handed him his wine and moved right into the next subject. He would understand that she wanted to put the day's disappointment behind her – which was the truth, she rationalized.

"Want me to go first?" she asked.

"Sure." He took a sip of wine and licked his lips in approval. "Nice."

"Did I ever tell you about that time I double dipped the chocolate covered almonds with Ex-Lax?" Nothing captivated Jane like a story about her doing something 'wrong.'

"Do tell," he said, closing his book. His face brightened in anticipation.

"One of my finest moments as a detective, I'll have you know," she teased.

As long as she kept him from the news for another twenty four hours, she was safe, and Jane wouldn't be needlessly reminded about the dangers of her job. She was doing the right thing, she reassured herself as she began the story.

"It was my first year in college, and somebody in the dorm kept stealing food out of the community refrigerator…"

XOXOXOXOXOX

The spring weather held and they had a spectacular weekend. The zoo on Saturday was a big hit with both of her boys, and she enjoyed keeping Christopher occupied on Sunday while Jane worked diligently on his boat dock project. She felt the occasional nag of guilt about her lie of omission, but she told herself she had done the right thing, and she almost believed it. But really, at this point, there was no changing her mind. Too much time had passed for her to say, "oh, by the way, I was almost killed on Friday."

By bedtime Sunday evening, her plan had come off without a hitch.

But as Jane always cautioned, every good plan needs a little luck. She kept her fingers crossed. And she had "accidently" spilled coffee all over the Sunday paper. Sometimes luck needed a nudge.

On Monday, an unexpected complication arose, but it was something she could handle. The team was getting a transfer case and Cho wanted Jane to help out. It fell to her to call her husband.

"Hi," he answered, a little out of breath. She wondered if he had been outside.

"How's it going?" she asked. He'd know this wasn't a random call – she rarely called during the workday.

"Things are under control at the moment. Almost naptime. We had a successful grocery run this morning. Oh, by the way," he added, "the traffic was all snarled. Apparently there was a funeral for an Austin PD cop."

She damped down her panic and kept her voice even. "Yeah, that happened Friday, I think," she acknowledged. "A shame. Listen, the reason I'm calling is because Cho wants to see if you'll work a case. We're getting one transferred from the TBI – it's got interstate components. The briefing is tomorrow afternoon at one. I don't know the details yet, but apparently the brass thought it was 'suited to our style.' What do you think?"

"Hmm. I'm pretty sure Wendy is available…but there's the boat dock…"

"It's up to you."

"Do you miss me?"

"Of course."

"You do?"

He was so childish sometimes. If he worked, there would be a slight risk he would find out about Friday, but she could talk to the team. They'd understand. And Cho really wanted him in on this case.

"Yeah. You can meet the new guy, too – Crenshaw. He's only been here ten days, and he's a pretty straight arrow." Jane did so love to mess with new team members. She knew he couldn't resist this opportunity.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "I'll call Wendy. Should I come in tomorrow at one?"

"Yup."

"I'll do it then."

Truth be told, she was excited for him to work the case, too. She had missed him at work. She would need to talk to the team, but that wasn't a big deal. And sure enough, an opportunity presented itself later that afternoon.

At three thirty, the entire team was assembled in the fishbowl waiting for the IT guy to come by and talk about new computer login procedures – one of those dull 'required' briefings. As they waited, she looked around the table. She, Cho and Wylie were still there, of course, but the team had changed. Kay Branch, a woman in her late 30's, was their new "techie" since Wylie was doing more work in the field. Liam Ramos, in his early 30's, had transferred in from the Colorado office because his wife took a promotion in Austin. They were both flexible enough to deal with Jane, and had fit in well.

Ten days ago a new rookie had been assigned to them -Alan Crenshaw. He was straight out of Quantico, young and cocky. But so far he seemed capable enough. She wasn't sure how Jane's rule bending ways would sit with him, though.

She recognized this moment as her opportunity and cleared her throat. "Since everybody's here, I need to ask a favor."

She had their attention. "As you know, Jane will be consulting on the case we're getting tomorrow afternoon. You're also aware I had a close call on Friday."

Cho and Wylie immediately picked up on where she was going.

"I'd prefer if that wasn't mentioned while Jane is present."

She saw the light come on for Branch and Ramos. They had both worked with Jane already and knew his history – at least the public part. They both nodded. Crenshaw still looked clueless.

"Patrick Jane, our consultant, is my husband," she told him.

"Oh. Right. The psychic guy. I heard about him."

She glanced at Cho. Would you please clue this guy in? Cho's tiny nod let her know that he would take care of it. The IT man made a timely appearance, and after his presentation was over, Cho dismissed them. As the team exited, he turned to his new agent.

"Crenshaw, you stay here. There are a few things you need to know about Patrick Jane."

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JANE

Jane felt a tiny stir of excitement inside as he rode the elevator up to the 5th floor of the FBI building. He'd only consulted on a couple of other cases since Christopher had been born, and the last one had been nearly three months ago.

While he had no desire to come back to work full time, he welcomed the break from parenting to work with his wife for a day or two and exercise his rusty detecting skills. It was good to be back.

He walked out of the elevator into the bullpen, but saw none of their team. He was relieved to see no one had moved his precious couch. He glanced around, looking for someone he knew. He hoped they hadn't gone to lunch early. Jane's plan was to come in early – it was only eleven am – in hopes that he and his wife could manage a rare lunch date before the briefing at one.

Ah well, if she was already gone, he would spend the time getting reacquainted with his nap friendly couch. He ducked into the empty men's room and locked himself into a stall. If she wasn't there when he returned to the bullpen, he would text her, though he much preferred to surprise her in person.

He was about to exit the stall when he heard footsteps, and he paused. Two men were conversing as they entered the restroom, unaware of his presence.

"So are you ready to meet Lisbon's husband?" Jane's ears perked up. He recognized Liam Ramos's voice. Jane took his hand off the latch and waited silently, eavesdropping.

"I guess. I was glad Cho told me about him. What Lisbon said yesterday makes more sense now." Jane didn't recognize the second, younger voice. Must be the new guy.

"Yeah, but I can't blame her. I mean, I never tell my wife when I have a close call like that. Why worry her? Makes no sense."

"I guess. She was pretty lucky. Cops on both sides of her went down – one dead and one in the ICU."

"Definitely lucky," Ramos agreed.

Still hidden in the stall, Jane felt an old familiar panic rise up inside him. Teresa had nearly been killed. And his wife, whom he trusted implicitly, had kept this truth from him.

"Well, I won't spill the beans, but I'm not gonna let him mess with me," the unfamiliar voice continued. "I'm not sure how I feel about having a civilian 'advise' us, you know?"

"He's not conventional, but he's good. And if he wants to mess with you, he will."

"Mess with this FBI agent?" the younger man's bravado kicked in. "Well, he sure as hell hasn't met Alan Crenshaw yet."

You're going to be sorry you said that. Jane chose that moment to emerge from the stall. He walked straight to the sink beside Crenshaw and turned his head slightly in his direction. The blood drained out of Ramos' face and Crenshaw frowned, confused.

"I have now," Jane said casually. Then he rinsed off his hands and strode out of the men's room without another word.

LISBON

As Lisbon returned to her desk, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She answered - it was Ramos.

"Lisbon, we just screwed up big time. Me and Crenshaw - we didn't know Jane was in the men's room and he overheard us talking about your…incident Friday."

"You WHAT?"

"He's on his way out there. I'm really sorry."

She glanced up and saw Jane enter the bullpen. "Thanks for telling me," she whispered. Then she sat down and pretended to shuffle papers on her desk while she eyed her husband in her peripheral vision.

Shit. She didn't want a domestic scene to go down at work. She needn't have worried about that, however. Because when she looked at Jane, she saw something she hadn't seen in a long time – the smiling mask of a showman in complete control. It made her shiver.

"Jane!" Wylie greeted him with a smile, genuinely glad to see him.

"Hello, Wylie. Say," he said, surveying the bullpen. "How about I take the team out to lunch today?"

Lisbon managed a fake smile, but couldn't meet his eyes with hers.

Branch piped up. "I'm in. Good to have you back, Jane."

Just then Cho appeared from his office. "Hey Jane. You're early."

"There's the boss man. I was just asking the team if I could take you all out to lunch. You know. Catch up."

Cho checked the clock. "Okay. Sure. We can be back in plenty of time for the briefing at one."

"It's eleven fifteen. How about we meet at the Secret Garden at eleven thirty? I'll go on over and make sure they have a big table set up."

She felt a stab of pain at his choice of restaurants. There were no coincidences in Patrick Jane's world.

"Teresa, I see you're still busy, and I understand that you'll want to finish up. I'll see you there," he said. And with a flourish, he disappeared into the elevator.

As soon as Jane was gone, Ramos and Crenshaw slinked in from around the corner.

Cho, unaware of what had just gone down, informed them of the plan. "Jane's taking everybody to lunch. Secret Garden in…" He glanced at his watch. "Fifteen minutes."

Lisbon slumped in her chair. A band of guilt tightened around her chest and she bit her lip. This was all her fault. She deserved the pain she was feeling. Not only had she lied to her husband, but that fact had just become public knowledge. She wanted to go back and do it all over – tell him everything - but it was too late now. She resisted a fleeting urge to go hide in the break room and skip the lunch entirely.

Instead, she grabbed her purse and joined the team as they headed down the elevator and toward the parking lot. The next hour was going to be horrible.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Jane had orchestrated the seating arrangements to his own liking. She was placed to his right, and Crenshaw was directly across the table from Jane – so he could observe him, no doubt.

After drinks were ordered, Jane stood up. "I'm going to address the elephant in the room, so we can all forget about it," he began. He paused for effect.

"I am aware that my lovely wife had a bit of a scare last Friday, even though she didn't tell me directly." He glanced down at her and smiled a chilly smile, just to be sure she was reading his subtext. It was coming through loud and clear. So much for being 100% honest with each other.

"I also understand she was simply trying not to worry me needlessly, and has enlisted your help in that process." You made our private business public.

"But I listen to the news." You got takeout and suggested we go to the zoo so I wouldn't.

"And I read the papers." You spilled that coffee on purpose.

"And as you may have heard, I'm pretty good at reading people." You distracted me with the disappointment of not being pregnant.

"I know this was all done with the kindest intentions." Yes, I know I've done this to you many times over the years.

"So let's just put all that behind us and enjoy our meal." His smile was charming, infectious, and as fake as a three dollar bill.

The group, however, took a collective sigh, relieved that everything was apparently fine. Except for her of course. She knew everything was not fine.

The rest of the lunch passed in light conservation. Jane talked a lot about Christopher – especially to Crenshaw. The agent made no attempt to conceal his boredom with the subject, doodling like crazy on his napkin as Jane went on about their son. Lisbon had a feeling Jane was setting him up for something.

When the meal was over, Jane shooed everyone back to work, claiming he had a short errand to run, while assuring Cho he would be there by one. It was clear to her he was avoiding being alone with her.

In the van back to the FBI, Ramos piped up.

"I'm glad Jane was okay with all that. Sorry about letting that slip, Lisbon."

"Yeah," Crenshaw added. "It didn't seem to be a big deal at all. You worried for nothin', Lisbon. He sure likes taking care of your kid."

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JANE

The "briefing," always a misnomer, was forty nine minutes too long. Jane distilled the information down to the important stuff: A human trafficker who specialized in making underage girls available during major sporting events was on the run and suspected of hiding out in the Austin area. His editorialized version? They were looking for someone with the approximate worth of a slime mold.

There were three persons of interest the TBI had brought in – the suspect's brother, his father, and an old friend. One of them had devised a complicated and effective plan to help Slime Mold elude the authorities and that person definitely knew where he was hiding. But the TBI had been unsuccessful in getting helpful information out of any of them. Jane suspected that was the real reason they were ready to punt this one to the FBI.

After his presentation the TBI team leader wished them luck, and Jane followed Lisbon into the fishbowl with the rest of their team. He and his wife had discussions ahead of them, but now was not the time or place. In fact, he was glad that some time would pass before they would be able to talk privately. It was always too easy to say something you would regret while in the heat of the moment.

Cho wasted no time getting started. He sent Branch to get some security camera footage and divvied up the interrogations. Lisbon was assigned the old friend, Wylie got the father, and Ramos would question the brother. The rest of the team watched the interviews through the observation window.

It didn't take Lisbon long to ascertain that the friend wasn't their man, and she finished up quickly.

"That's it?" Crenshaw asked, incredulous.

"It's not him," explained Jane.

Crenshaw didn't say anything else but his body language screamed disagreement.

Wylie's interview was revealing. The father was distraught about his son, but knew nothing, Jane was sure of it. And while Ramos didn't get a confession out of the brother, he did expose several cracks in his story. By the end of his session, Jane was certain the brother was their man.

"Everybody take fifteen and meet back in the fishbowl," Cho instructed the team, and Jane made a beeline toward the break room for tea.

While he stood at the island dunking his tea bag, he focused his attention on Agent Crenshaw, who was talking on the phone in the other room. The man faced toward a glass wall, keeping his conversation private, or so he thought. Through the glass between the break room and the bullpen, however, Jane could see the man's face clearly. He spoke passionately, and as he did so, Jane read his lips.

…can't believe this team…senior agent is okay but this older woman can't investigate for shit…practically held the scum bag's hand…

The rookie had pegged the old friend as the guilty party, Jane surmised. And he certainly didn't think much of Lisbon. Crenshaw turned slightly so Jane moved to the other end of the island, making it easier for him to see. He resumed his lip reading.

what can you expect…didn't even go to Quantico, for Chrissake…got into the FBI on the coattails of her husband…dude shouldn't be here either…some screwball psychic who's playing Mr. Mom…all he talked about at lunch was his kid…I've been thrown into a fucking circus, baby.

You moron.

I'm gonna ask to interview the suspect myself. I'll get the truth out of that piece of filth, if they'll give me a chance.

The agent turned away and Jane's brow furrowed. While he might be upset with his wife, nobody got to talk about her like that – especially not this cretin. Agent Crenshaw was due for a little education.

Jane fell in beside Cho as they both walked back toward the fishbowl.

"Apparently Agent Crenshaw thinks he can conduct a better interview than Lisbon."

Cho's eyebrows came up just a smidgen.

"Just a heads up," Jane added as they joined the rest of the team, already gathered in the room.

"Thoughts?" Cho asked. Leave it to Cho to be economical with his words.

"Definitely the brother, " Jane said, confident in his pronouncement. "Ramos, you almost had him."

There were nods around the room.

"Anybody think it's the father?" Cho asked. He knew they didn't.

"He mostly feels guilty," Wylie said, shrugging.

"I agree," Jane said. "The father just wants his son to get out of this alive."

"What about the friend?" Cho asked, just to be thorough.

"I don't think he's anywhere near smart enough to pull off that plan," Lisbon said with a wry smile. The rest of the team nodded, except for Crenshaw. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"You think differently," Cho addressed the younger agent.

"Yeah, I do. He and the perp ran a pot business together at one point. He's the logical choice. He wasn't pressured at all in the interview." Crenshaw glanced at Lisbon. He didn't say it, but his meaning was obvious to Jane – he thought Lisbon was incompetent.

"Not enough, anyway," Crenshaw continued, and turned toward Cho. "I think I could get his confession if you'd give me a little time with him."

Jane turned abruptly to face him. "You don't think much of Lisbon, do you? Token female agent. Poorly trained. Not tough enough."

"I didn't say that at all."

"Au contraire, that's exactly what you said. What do you know about Agent Lisbon, Mr. Crenshaw?"

"That's not…"

Jane interrupted. "What do you know about her? Please answer the question."

Crenshaw glanced at Cho for help and got a cold stare.

"She's been in the FBI for three years. Before that she was a police chief in Washington state. She's been married to you for a couple of years and you all have a kid."

"Anything else?"

"She didn't go through Quantico."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what she did before she worked in Washington?"

"I assumed she was a cop somewhere else."

Jane rolled his eyes, tisking. "Do you even want to be a detective, Alan?"

"Now wait a minute."

Jane ignored his protest. "And me. What do you know about me?"

"You were a psychic in California…"

Jane cut the man off. "Pretend psychic. No such things as psychics."

Jane's interruption only served to dial up Crenshaw's irritation, and his voice got louder as he continued. "Your family was killed by a serial killer. You tracked him down and – I assume it was you – killed him. The FBI pardoned you so you would work with us. And you're not…conventional."

"Cho told you that."

Crenshaw jutted out his chin. "Yeah."

"Your lack of curiosity is profoundly disturbing."

"I can get a confession out of that man if I get the chance," he snapped with venom. "I'm curious about important stuff."

"Alan, Alan, Alan." Jane shook his head. "I understand exactly where you're coming from. Why don't you drop the macho act?"

"You don't know anything about me," Crenshaw said with a sneer.

Jane smiled broadly, and the rest of the team uttered a silent, collective, "uh oh."

"Late twenties, raised by a single mother. Younger sister. You were the man of the house."

Crenshaw didn't flinch. All of that would have been in his file. Jane narrowed his eyes. "Mother 's not overly bright or strong, but warm and loving. Father left when you were young. He was in the arts…a musician." Jane kept his eye on the agent's face. "You always saw him as weak. Effeminate even. So you played sports – wrestling, martial arts. You were good at them. Strong. Macho. Not like your father. You wanted to show everyone you weren't weak, like he was. Especially yourself."

"That's not in my file."

"I've never read your file," Jane quipped without dropping a beat.

"You decided to go into law enforcement because all the guys on the TV cop shows were tough. Masculine. In control. You ignored the arts – which is what you really want to do. You love to draw…no…paint."

Crenshaw's face had turned beet red.

"I suspect you're quite talented as well. But you were afraid to nurture that. Afraid you would turn out like your father."

Jane let that point settle, and then went on. "But you are indeed not curious, or you would have done some research on the people you work with. After we're finished here you need to do that. I think you'll be surprised."

It was dawning on Crenshaw that he'd made a mistake, but Jane wasn't finished.

"Agent Lisbon is, quite frankly, twice the man you are. You don't even have the courage to do what you really want to do in life. You're too busy trying not to commit the sins of your father – which you would not, because unlike him, you have a tremendous sense of duty. It wasn't your father's artistic bent that was his flaw, it was his narcissism and sloth, neither of which you possess.

How am I doing so far?"

"How did you…" the shell shocked man's voice trailed off. He didn't attempt to deny any of it.

"It's what I do. That and care for my child." Jane paused, looking away for a moment.

"There are only two worthwhile things to leave behind when you depart this world of ours: children and art," Jane quoted. "Sondheim. Sunday in the Park with George. I believe that's true. But since I, unlike you, possess no artistic talent, I'm doing my part to leave my mark on society by raising a happy, well adjusted child."

Jane sensed he had gone on long enough.

"Perhaps, with Agent Cho's permission, you can learn something by watching Agent Lisbon interview the brother and crack this case wide open."

Cho looked at Lisbon and very nearly smiled.

"Lisbon?"

"I'll give it a try, boss."

"The father is the brother's Achilles heel," Jane mentioned to Lisbon. "If he thinks the father will go to jail about this, he'll crumble."

"But he won't," said a bewildered Crenshaw, "go to jail."

"The brother doesn't know that. And Lisbon can be quite convincing," Jane said. She gave him a dirty look. He didn't care. She deserved that one.

Forty-five minutes later Lisbon had not only obtained the location of Slime Mold, but the brother had agreed to lead them to the safe deposit box with all the business records. Crenshaw was begrudgingly amazed, and it was time for Jane to make his exit.

He addressed the team. "It was great being back at work with all of you, but I need to go. The sitter has to leave at four thirty." After he left the room, he stuck his head back inside the door. "Crenshaw," he said without a hint of malice. "Good luck."

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LISBON

After the brother confessed, her workday seemed to go on forever. A dark cloud of dread hovered over her and followed her home as she finally pulled into their driveway. 'Dead woman walking,' Lisbon thought with black humor as she made the slow, deliberate walk to their front door, heading toward the jury of her husband's opinion. She couldn't even whine that she wasn't guilty. She had screwed up royally - now it was time to face the consequences.

After her initial panic, she wasn't afraid he would leave. Not physically, anyway. He would most likely forgive her. But would he "leave" her emotionally - that was her real concern. Their intimacy had been so hard won. Would he draw back now? And worse yet, if he did, could she blame him?

When she reached the front door, she could hear Christopher's squeals inside, and she smiled in spite of everything. His peals of laughter buoyed her spirits, so she squared her shoulders and turned the key.

"Hey," she called, once inside.

"Back here," came Jane's direction.

Jane was lying on the living room rug with Christopher sitting on his belly. He held the baby's hands as he gave him "rollercoaster rides," bouncing him up and down and twisting him right and left. As the child 'rode' his daddy, he shrieked with delight. The boy was so absorbed in the game he didn't even realize she was home.

Jane stopped moving and grinned at her.

"Mo!" the child demanded, bouncing himself on Jane's now still torso.

"Ouch, cowboy. Easy with the spurs," he chuckled. "Look Christopher. Back there. Look who's home." He pointed toward Lisbon. The baby stopped bouncing and turned around to look.

"Mama! Mama!" He waved his little chubby arms wildly at the sight of her, asking her to take him. Which of course, she did.

Jane rose and dusted himself off as she cuddled their delighted son. "Wendy said the day went well. I've got dinner in the oven if you want to change."

The façade of normality. His message came through loud and clear. They would talk about this only after their son was in bed. The thought of waiting longer was maddening. Was he doing this to punish her? No, she decided. It was right to wait. There was no need to upset the baby, and they needed to be able to give each other their full attention.

Jane's lobster mac and cheese casserole was delicious, but she picked at her food. Christopher, however, ate like a starved pup and his eyes were already drooping by the end of dinner. Jane reached over to get him out of his high chair, but she stopped him.

"No, it's my night. I'll get his bath and put him to bed. Then maybe we can talk? Out on the porch?"

Jane stared at her intently before replying, "All right."

Meeting the needs of the baby was exactly what she needed. She found comfort in the routine of bath, bottle, and bedtime, and her duties forced her to think about something other than how their talk would go down.

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JANE

He ambled out to the screened porch, which had become his favorite spot. The evening air was pleasantly cool, not chilly, and he took his customary seat on the couch.

He breathed in a lungful of the clear spring air and let it out, savoring its many mingled fragrances. The frogs were active on the pond now, providing a background of frenzied calls. He could make out three – no – four distinct species.

Jane loved this place, this little piece of land. It nurtured him. Calmed him. Here he could let the cacophony of a violent and dangerous world wash away. Here he was able to soothe himself, letting the anger and anxiety associated with the dangers of Teresa's job melt away. And it was here he repeatedly reminded himself how lucky he was to have this second chance at a happy life.

Lost in the sanctuary of nature, time passed quickly, and soon he heard the whistle of the tea kettle. She was making him tea. A peace offering.

She emerged from the door carrying two steaming cups of liquid. He had rarely seen his wife look so miserable. Rarely, he considered, because she was so infrequently at fault. Ninety nine percent of the time, that was his role.

No matter how he felt right now, he needed to remember that.

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LISBON

Thankful the waiting was over, she made her way out onto the porch.

"I made you chamomile." That was supposed to be calming, right?

"Perfect," he said, accepting the cup.

She sat down on the couch close to him, but not touching. The frogs were loud tonight, she noted, and they sat for a few moments listening to them, each waiting for the other to begin. When they did start to speak, they did it simultaneously.

"Me first," she insisted.

He dipped his head, honoring her request.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you. I was going to." She pursed her lips. "But when I got home, and saw you and Christopher. You looked…so happy. I couldn't make myself say it. I was wrong."

"I know you meant well," he admitted. "But…"

"I was the one who always insisted we should be 100% honest with each other. I'm aware of that." She tried not to get defensive, but it was hard.

"Yeah," he smiled, glancing down at the floor.

"I know I made it worse by involving the team." She had to take her lumps like a big girl and get it all said.

"Yeah," he admitted.

She smiled mirthlessly. "By the way, you were pretty rough on Crenshaw. He apologized after you left, you know."

"He's a fool."

"He's young."

"Meh, he's a young fool who doesn't really want to be in law enforcement and he doesn't respect women. Not someone I want watching your back."

She nodded. She certainly wasn't going to defend that little snot today.

"I…" he started, but then he paused, taking a sip of tea. He seemed to be getting his thoughts together, choosing his words carefully. "I know I have no right to be upset. All those years that I kept things from you. The lies of omission."

"That was different," she admitted. "That was before." She took a big deep breath and let out an enormous sigh. "Before we promised."

"I know. But still." He angled his head. "I've been sitting here, wondering what I would have said if you'd told me the truth up front."

"I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have," he agreed, squinting. "But not necessarily for me. The truth is, I'll never be comfortable with people shooting at you."

"That's why…"

"Let me finish," he stopped her. "Things are different now. We have Christopher."

He paused again for several seconds, taking another sip of his tea. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way."

"What?"

"Before Christopher was born, I didn't know how I would react if I lost you. But now I have another…reason." He let that concept sit for a moment. "Another purpose. If you…" The pain on his face made her wince. "If you were…killed, I would raise Christopher the best way I could."

"I know."

"I know what it's like to grow up without a mother."

Oh, Jane, you played that card? Yet it made his point. She felt tears forming in her eyes. She didn't want to do that to her child.

"You know I'd do my very best," he assured her.

"You're a great father. That's the only reason I can do this job."

Now her husband's eyes were liquid as well. "So now we need to deal with the real reason you should have told me." His pointed his index finger casually her way. "Because of you."

She frowned.

"I know you, Teresa. I know you're strong, and you do a formidable job of putting fears out of your mind. I wish I had half your constitution. But I also know that after this happened you were upset – at least on the inside. You worried about Christopher. About him growing up without you."

She nodded. It was hard to hold back the tears.

"You need to be able to share those fears with someone – hopefully with me. And I need to be able to listen and let you voice those fears without falling apart myself. That's what this," he pointed back and forth between them, " is all about."

"But won't that scare you?" she sniffled.

"Of course. I'm still scared of losing you, and I wish you weren't so dedicated to your job. But I know I have to accept that, and now I know that if the worst happens, I won't…I'll still have a reason to get up every day. I won't drown my grief in a bottle, either. I'll raise our son."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Trust me enough to let me be here for you, too. We're partners, right?"

She recalled standing outside of Jane's attic so many years ago, asking him that very question. He had pulled her inside that day and shared things with her.

She scooted closer to Jane, feeling his warmth, and let herself melt into his chest. "On the way back to the FBI after those cops were shot, I had to stop the car. My hands were shaking. It dawned on me that Christopher could have grown up without ever knowing me at all."

"I'd make sure he knew all about you," he said in that kind, gentle voice he used when he knew she was scared. "He'd be okay."

"I know. But he'd always be that kid at school without a mom. And…" her voice cracked. "I missed my mom."

"It's okay, Teresa. It'll be okay."

She turned toward him and let him gather her into his arms while he drew soothing circles on her back with his fingers. "I love you," she whispered between her sniffles. "Partner."

She could feel his smile against her cheek. "I know."

They sat silently for several moments, letting the weight of the issue melt away. Her eyes dried and as the frogs called, her mind drifted back to the afternoon at work.

"Does Crenshaw really want to be an artist?"

"Yeah, I think he does."

"Wow," she said. "You're good."

"And yet, you can fool me easily," he pointed out, not letting her forget her transgression too quickly.

"Low blow, partner," she growled, giving him a swat.

And then he kissed her.

"Mmm. That tastes like a warm caramel, forgiving kind of kiss," she noted appreciatively, borrowing Jane's tendency to use unusual descriptions.

When he kissed her again, he removed all doubt.

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THE END

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Thank you for reading, and I hope this proved to be a satisfactory ending to this series. I thought it was time.