Chapter Text
Woken straight from a nightmare, Jane reached a hand towards Lisbon’s side of the bed, his fingers meeting cool, still fabric instead of warmth that would have shrouded her body.
“Teresa.” He got out, though his heart was racing too fast to hear much of anything - he’d dreamt that he was on their porch, could see his brown loafers and white hand on the knob as wind pulled at his hair.
“Patrick,” Arms taut by her side. Thomas McCallister stood behind her, wide blue eyes and a feverish expression that served as a reminder he’d sold his soul long ago. A curved blade pressed against ivory skin, a bead of red pulling itself downwards, and another, and another, staining Teresa's nightgown. Her hand touched the wound before traveling to her growing womb, leaving behind an imperfect bloodied handprint.
“You got your first wife and kid dead, Pat. That wasn’t enough for you?”
“Leave her out of this.” Jane said in a growl.
“Or what?” Asked McCallister. He’d taunted Jane for years and years. Taken the people Jane cared for more than anything, the people who'd been the first to truly care for him. He couldn’t take Lisbon too, his present and his future. The coward he was wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but he forced himself to watch, knowing with horror what was about to happen. Even before he could reach out and touch her, it'd be too late.
“Teressa – please!”
“Jane, Jane, Patrick, I’m here, honey. I’m here. We’re okay.” A familiar voice rung out, cool hands at his forehead, brushing aside matted locks. When he had blinked himself awake, Lisbon was by his side on the bed, distanced by her protruding stomach. McCallister couldn't touch her. They were at home. The woman who'd been by his side for years remaining.
“The baby?” A hand reached for her waist, needing the contact.
“We’re okay, Patrick. I just had to use the bathroom.”
"These days you spend more time in the bathroom than in bed with me,” said he after a moment, trying to project calm, as if he hadn’t just dreamt his worst nightmare.
“That’s not by choice.” She crawled into the bed besides him, pulling him into her arms. “I’m sorry that I scared you. You know I’m not planning on going anywhere, right?”
"I know,” Spoke Jane after a pause. “I know that.” There was no future he could see save for the one with her in it.
“We’re safe here. I promise you.” He found that she was rubbing at his back, applying enough pressure he could feel under the cotton pajama top he wore, that he was sure smelt of sweat. Though Teresa only lifted her head onto his shoulder, pressing close.
Sometime passed before he was aware he had dozed off without his knowing, the pleasant sensation of his wife’s small hand on his back and the pull of somnus against his fatigued posture. He’d never been one for sleeping on his back, but it had served its purpose before as a feint. Lisbon was rustling the covers in an act to turn over, forehead creasing in consternation, grumbling under her breath, which likely had been the kicker, he thought.
"You okay?”
“Just getting comfortable,” He heard her take a breath. Realization began to dawn with the way she was gripping the comforter – it was more than a need for warmth or comfort.
“Teresa, do you think you’re in labor?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been in labor before.” Spoke Lisbon after a few seconds of silence. “My back is killing me,” She pointed at her spine. “But it’s too early.”
“It might be Braxton Hicks, but to be sure, why don’t we give it a few minutes, hmm?” He suspected she’d been having pains since he woke her up, when was that? Squinting at the alarm clock on their bedside table, he was surprised to find that had been four hours ago. “I’m going to double check the go-bag,” Swinging his legs over their queen-sized bed, he headed for the living room. The thought that she very well might be in labor shook him to the core. Hands that shook reached on the floor for the gray duffel, mind on autopilot as he recommitted its contents to memory. Lisbon had to reach out to Grace on when it came to knowing what was needed for the hospital. Extra set of clothes for both them and baby. Nursing bra. A few onesies. The unmentionables and various toiletries. Newborn diapers, small enough to rest in his palm. He stared, willing his heart rate to steady lest he have an heart attack.
“Jane?" Movement in his peripheral, “I went to use the bathroom and it looks as if I’m bleeding a little. I’ll be fine, I think. But the midwife said it’s a symptom that…” In the literal wake of his nightmare, she had to be careful with her wording, she reminded herself, even though the distraction of the cramping, similar to that she was used to, but heavier. But even if he wasn’t ready, there’d be no delaying this.
“Well then,” Patrick cleared his throat, zipping the duffel bag closed and setting it over his shoulder, knowing that giving in to the fear would be a disservice to his wife or child.
“Let’s get a move on, woman.”