AN: Recently I've been overwhelmed with inspiration for this fandom, so I figured I'd run with it. Set at an unspecified point in season 7.

in life and in death (and somewhere in between)

One shot, and he falls to his knees.

Lisbon is already lunging to him when she gets off a final round. She watches it land square between the suspect's eyes before she drops her gun and drops to the ground, violently shaking hands reaching for Jane.

Red blossoms on his chest like a rose in the spring, and Lisbon presses down against the wound. Her fingers slide in his blood.

"Jane!" she says. "Jane, come on. Come on, Jane!"

His hand comes up to rest upon her own, then he goes limp.

He opens his eyes to an unnaturally brilliant sunset, the hues of the heavens lit up like the fourth of July. The colors dance down to the ocean, twisting as the waves break. The sand beneath him is cool and coarse, and as his eyes adjust to his surroundings, he sees a familiar profile standing in the distance, wind whipping her hair.

Jane steps to her, throat dry and eyes watering, and she reaches behind her for his hand like she'd known he was there all along.

"Ange?"

She turns, her expression one of love and longing. "Look at you," she breathes. She reaches a hand up to brush her thumb over wrinkles at the corner of his eye that Jane realizes must be new to her.

"I'm dead, then."

Angela's dark eyes are pained. "No, not yet."

He frowns. "Not yet?"

"You're alive, but just barely."

"So this isn't real?"

She smirks. "I didn't say that."

He steps toward her, cradles her face within his hands. His lip quivers as his eyes rove over her face, drinking every last detail as though he's dying of thirst. "Ange – "

She shushes him. "It wasn't your fault," she says, anticipating what he was going to say. "Patrick, it wasn't your fault."

He touches his forehead to hers, and he's certain she can feel him tremble.

"Charlotte – "

"She didn't wake up."

"And you?"

"It was quick."

He closes his eyes, reaching for her hands, then forces air into his lungs. Angela's fingers intertwine with his.

"Patrick," she whispers. "I'm at peace. We're at peace."

Jane blinks, and this opens the floodgates. Angela reaches up with one hand, still holding his own, and wipes his tears away with her thumb.

"Babe," she says. "It's okay."

But it's not, it never will be - not really. And she knows this as well as he does.

"I miss you," murmurs Jane. "So much," he adds, his jaw tight.

"I miss you, too."

Jane kisses her fingers. "There's so much I need to tell you," he says.

Angela lets go of his hand, smiling sadly, and she raises hers to run through his hair. "And we'll have time. Someday," says Angela. "But first…"

Jane gathers her hands in his, holding them to his chest. "What is it?"

"Babe, it's not your time." The wind wraps around them both, chilling from skin to bone. "It's not your time."

Jane's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"You need to fight, Patrick. You have so much more to give to this world." He watches as a tear stains her cheek. "To Teresa."

Tremors wrack his body. "You know Lisbon?"

Angela smiles again, and this time, it's not a sad one. "I like her. A lot."

He's half-crying, half-chuckling. "I knew you would."

"And you adore her. So fight for her. Please, Patrick."

"Not fighting was never an option," Jane says grimly.

Relief flashes across Angela's face. "That's the man I married."

Jane kisses Angela's fingers again. "You know she's...she's not a replacement, right?"

Angela nods. "She's Teresa."

"And me choosing to fight, and not choosing to stay here with you…"

"I know," confirms Angela. "I know your heart."

Jane leans forward to kiss her cheek. "Tell Charlotte she is safe, she is loved, and she is wise."

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, babe."

The sun sinks below the horizon, and there is nothing but darkness.

Lisbon grips her cross necklace, and the metal digs into the skin of her palm. She closes her eyes against the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital hallway and begins to pray.

She stumbles over the words, fighting and being consumed by tears. But she continues, holding on just as she knows Jane is doing for her at that very moment.

There's a light touch at her elbow, and Lisbon jerks reflexively. Before her stands a young woman with light brown hair, dark eyes, and a kind expression. "I'm sorry," says Lisbon, wiping her eyes. "My boyfriend is in surgery, and I think I'm in shock." Lisbon frowns, studying the woman. "I'm definitely in shock," she says, eyes widening.

Angela's smile is gentle. "You're not in shock."

Lisbon's mouth forms words, but she doesn't make a sound.

"Patrick's going to make it," says Angela. "He's a fighter."

Lisbon nods tightly. "He is."

Angela just looks at her, and Lisbon watches as the younger woman's eyes drown in tears. "Thank you," whispers Angela. "Thank you for...for saving him. He wouldn't be alive if not for you. And I don't just mean today."

Lisbon wipes her eyes again.

"I'm happy for him," continues Angela. "He deserves a second chance. And I'm glad it's with you." She composes herself. "Keep calling him out on his bullshit. He deserves that, too."

Lisbon's laugh catches in her throat. "I will," she promises.

Angela steps forward, enveloping her in a warm embrace, and Lisbon closes her eyes.

She wakes to dried tears on her cheeks, her hand covering Jane's, her breaths labored.

Lisbon blinks, dazed, and lifts her head from her arms. Jane is lying prone before her, tucked into a hospital bed. An oxygen mask is strapped over his nose and mouth, and his skin is nearly as white as the gown he's wearing. Lisbon waits for him to breathe.

He does, and so does she.

She holds his hand between hers, careful not to disrupt the IV line, and lifts his palm to her cheek, closing her eyes.

A minute later, his finger moves, tracing a deliberate line down her jaw.

"Jane," she says, eyes flashing open.

His eyelids flutter. "Lisbon," he sighs, his breath fogging up the mask.

Lisbon lays her hand lightly on his chest and leans over to kiss his forehead.

His hand comes up to rest upon her own.