His hands are still shaking when she finds him.

The aftermath of the shooting had seemed to happen in slow motion; Lisbon still hasn't wrapped her mind around it all. She feels off-balance, whether from the fear that immobilized her when Hardy aimed at her or from the reaction to Jane shooting him instead, she isn't sure.

She isn't sure of anything, really, except that she needs to be with Jane.

She tells herself it's for his benefit, that he shouldn't be left alone. She also knows that's not entirely true.

Jane had withdrawn from the scene as soon as the shock had faded, after they knew beyond a doubt that Hardy was dead. She finds him now sitting against a tree on the side of the property, hunched over his knees and looking utterly defeated.

It's instinctual, the way she reaches for him. Her hands find his and her grip tightens when she feels him trembling. She breathes a little easier when he squeezes back, despite not lifting his gaze.

Instinctual.

There are a thousand things she could say to him, things she wants to, but the words won't come. Each thought of comfort sounds more hollow than the last, and the words of anger have lost their edge. It's impossible for her to be angry anymore, though she's started to wonder if she really was angry in the first place—if she wasn't just frustrated, and desperate, and perhaps more than a little afraid.

But he had saved her life. Jane had just killed a man to save her. Despite whatever disregard he had for his own life, Jane certainly felt that Lisbon's was too much to risk losing.

She's a bit overwhelmed with the thought.

By the time she's brought herself out of her reverie, Jane's hands have grown more steady. Still kneeling in front of him, Lisbon forces herself to speak.

"Jane." Her voice is quieter, more emotional, than she would prefer. But something in it pulls Jane from his thoughts, and his haunted eyes meet hers. She attempts to continue but can only manage to repeat his name.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and it sounds broken. "I should have—"

"Don't," she manages, though the word sticks in her throat. "Don't apologize, Jane."

"Lisbon, you could have just died," he insists, and the way his voice breaks over the last word reveals how close he is to tears. Lisbon pulls his hands closer.

"But I'm still here, Jane, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

He looks up then, but not at her, his eyes swimming with grief and regret. "I—You should have waited; you should've let me stay. Then we'd have Hardy and Red John, and you would be safe and—"

"And you would be dead! You'd be dead, Jane!" It comes out louder, harsher, than she had intended, but it gets his attention back on her. She feels sick at the thought of him dead, lying in a pool of blood in that basement. She looks at the shock on his face and adds, quieter, "Jane, there are people that need—hell, I need you, you're my partner, for better or worse. And I would rather have you here than have Red John. I'm not giving you up just for a scumbag like him. We will catch him, the right way, and you will be there when we do that. But I am not losing you."

She watches as her words settle on him, as the conflicting emotions rise on his face. For a moment, she's afraid she pushed too far, gave too much away and now he's going to run. But the feeling passes, and through the tears he looks at her, and she knows instinctively that he isn't going anywhere.

When he speaks, the self-loathing in his voice has gone, fading to something softer. "I can't lose you either, Lisbon. I don't think I could survive it. But every second I'm in your life, I make you a target for Red John. And I…" He pauses, swallows, before adjusting his grip on her hands to thread their fingers together. "I have not cared for anyone in the way that I care for you, not since I lost my family. If this hunt for my revenge means I lose you too, it would destroy me."

So here they are. The stalemate. She shoves aside the thought that this is surely the closest thing to a confession of love that Jane could give her to focus on this: She won't give him up to catch Red John, nor will he give up her. And surely Red John knows this; Lisbon knows Jane's fear for her life is not misplaced. But one of them is going to have to give—unless whatever feelings they hold for each other can be set aside, Lisbon knows they'll keep choosing each other.

It terrifies her, that she would go this far for him, that he would for her, too. But when she meets his eyes again, the feeling fades from fear to something close to comfort. She knows, now, can see it in the way he looks at her—it would have always ended up this way. They would always end up too close.

She settles on the ground next to him, her right hand still held in his left, nestled between them. "I knew from the day I signed on with you that there were going to be risks, and I agreed anyway. You've been with me for over four years and I haven't changed my mind—not about catching Red John, and not about sticking with you." She lifts their joined hands and holds them against her chest. "You are not going to lose me, Jane. I promise."

The barest hint of a smile rises on Jane's face, and he looks a little less lost, a little more grounded. His words still echo in her mind, and the enormity of his care for her settles on her with his gaze. She's surprised that it doesn't scare her; in fact, she thinks it's been there all along. They won't be able to name it, not until Red John is gone, but it isn't going anywhere.

As long as Jane is by her side, she thinks she can live with that.

"Thank you," he whispers then, "for saving me."

"Pretty sure I should be the one thanking you, Jane."

"I didn't just mean today." His eyes are still heavy with sadness, but there is something else in his gaze, an intensity that Lisbon can't name. "I don't think I would have made it this far if it weren't for you."

She feels almost overwhelmed with the sincerity of his words, but a rush of affection blossoms in her at the same time. "You're my partner," she says, because it's the simplest explanation for her feelings, but she knows he understands that it runs deeper than that—it does for him, too.

His resulting smile—small, but genuine—reassures her that, come what may, they'll be stuck with each other for a long time.

When she eventually suggests they get him home, Jane sobers, and Lisbon knows that he doesn't have anywhere to go. He starts to speak, almost certainly about to ask her to drop him at headquarters, when she interrupts. "I'll take you back home with me. I'm not leaving you alone after today, and certainly not at the office."

A surprised, yet hopeful look rises on his face. "You sure?" She nods, allowing a small smile of her own. "Thank you, Lisbon."

"Don't mention it."

She stands and helps pull him to his feet, and is relieved to feel that his steadiness has returned. Regardless, she doesn't lose the grip on his hand, content in its warmth and security. She doesn't care who sees. She holds his hand the entire drive back, as he draws circles with his thumb on the back of her hand.

At home, she gathers blankets for Jane to set him up on her couch, and he's nearly asleep on his feet within the few minutes it takes her to return. She can't help but smile at his antics as he fights against being tucked in, but exhaustion beats him in the end. His eyes slip closed as soon as she pulls up the blanket, and she watches him for a moment, allowing herself to truly appreciate that they both made it through this day alive, unharmed. That he's here, with her, accepting her help, her love. That he's willing to reciprocate.

She whispers goodnight, and before she can rethink it, bends down and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. She knows he's awake, but she doesn't mind—besides, the smile that spreads across his face as she turns to go upstairs is more than worth it.

Despite the stress of the day, she falls asleep easily, content that Jane will still be there in the morning—and, if she's lucky, for many mornings yet to come.