Disclaimer: last time I checked, I didn't own the Mentalist. too bad
Spoiler alert: none
She isn't going to lie to herself; she has often fantasized about this, when she was all alone at home, in her bed in the middle of the night, playing with herself, or, sometimes, while merely looking at him, faking sleep on his couch. She'll not tell such a lie. She has thought many times about Patrick Jane pushing her against the wall, cornering her between said surface and his body, about lips battling for domination, about limbs entangled, hands everywhere, busy wandering and exploring and finding, skin against skin, shared heat of passion in a place nothing like that should happen- but what's more exciting than an illicit affair at the office, with a person you shouldn't have sex with for any reason at all, in your (not locked) office itself?
But this is what it is, a dream, a fantasy, and, as handsome, gentleman and fascinating and alluring and hot and sexy and smart and fun as he may be (whenever he allows himself to), he is Patrick Jane, former Psych and sworn enemy to Red John, the man who can't let it of the past and has dedicated his life to kill in cold blood and with a gory torture his nemesis, and she is still a cop. She has made the mistake of allowing something like that once, with her mentor, and a piece of her died that day, she is still paying the consequences, her soul will always pays the consequences, and she can't do it. She can't help him. She can't stop him, as much as she'd like to. It took her too long to build those walls around her heart, and Patrick Jane is menacing to destroy them. She can't allow it. She has to think of her, for once. She has spent her entire life thinking about the needs of others, and she has always ended hurt and broken. But now she no longer can. Now she has to think of herself, now she has to protect herself, because, if the walls will fall down, she'll fall as well, and it will be her end, she knows it, she is aware of it, even sure.
It doesn't matter if Jane can't understand it, if he doesn't want see it, doesn't want to understand it, if he doesn't give a damn about her, too selfish to allow himself the luxury of thinking of others for once in his life.
Of course, if he could actually think about others and being not so selfish, they'd not be here in the first place. His family wouldn't be dead. Red John wouldn't be enraged with him. They'd never meet. They'd never end up with her pushed pressed between a wall and his body, both almost naked.
They'd not be about to have sex, to fuck (because there's no way what they are going to do is making love) if his family hadn't died, she realizes as his wedding band shines, enlightened by the lamp. And that's why they'll never make love. He doesn't love her, as much as she'd like to, as much as she dreams of it, he can't love her, not when he belongs to someone else, mind, body and soul. Patrick Jane belongs to Angela Ruskin. Patrick Jane belongs to Charlotte Jane. Patrick Jane belongs to Red John. Patrick Jane belongs to vendetta and hate.
There's no place for her in his life. There's no place for her in his heart, mind and soul. She is a pawn in his hands, a mean to an end, like the rest of the world, like all. Only, apparently, she is good enough to warm his bed at night (figuratively speaking), she is good enough to have been chosen to help him to alleviate the pent up sexual tension, to fulfill his sexual needs. She is just a person to use, and, now, he'd want for here to be a body to use as well.
After all, what does he care? He knows she wants for it to happen, he probably thinks it will be less like using her since she is willing to be used in the first place, ready to give up control, to give up her very soul, her body to him to use it as he prefers to fulfill his needs and hers as well.
But, as much as she has always felt pushed towards the walking enigma that's Jane, she knows that one day he'll die, with a blade or in a maximum security prison with a needle in his arm, she doesn't know how yet, but she knows he'll die nevertheless, and, right now, she'd rather prefer seeing him killed by Red John or any other killer he has the brilliant idea of annoy. If he'll die first, before his nemesis, she'll not have to arrest him, and if, or when, she'll have to arrest him, a part of her will die.
So, even if he trails kisses on her whole body, her clothes almost completely removed,, and she feels like burning, even if there's nothing she'd rather have than a night with him, even only just one, she stops him, because, at least, this way, once it will be over with, it will hurt a little less, at least she'll not torture herself with the memories, with the what ifs and the buts.
It's just self defense, she tells herself as she runs away from her office, her discharged clothes in her arms, crying, leaving behind Jane, abandoning him to sit alone and in the dark in a corner of her office, at loss of words, hands covering his face, running through his hair while silently sobbing, tears running on features signed by too much sufferance.
He thought she could save him. He thought he could make her happy, keep all his promises. Apparently, he has been wrong. He is alone in the dark again, she is gone and he has ruined yet another chance at life, at happiness. He can't help it, everything he does, it's a mistake, only, this time this particular mistake will not have repercussions only on him.
He has broken Lisbon's heart, and he is not sure she'll recover so easily. He's not sure she'll recover at all. He isn't sure if THEY will recover. He isn't sure if they'll be able to salvage whatever semblance of friendship, or relationship, they have left. He'll not mind (not that much) if she'll not be his lover, he'll not mind if she'll prefer to not share her life with him. Right now, he knows he wants her back in his life, even if she is gone from just few minutes, right now he needs he back because she is the only one worth living for, worth fighting for, worth saving.
She is his saving grace. She is his everything, and he'll even accept if she'll just want him back as a friend. Right now, he could even go with just coworker. It would be already enough, because he needs her, she is the only one who can save him from himself; from the ghost he has turned himself into, from Red John. It's just a matter of self-preservation, a self-defense against the evils of the worlds, a matter of being there for her, no matter what, and saving himself in the process, defending her and defending him in the process, a bit like being in a relationship, in a marriage.
He needs her back, and he'll do whatever it takes to win her, to take Teresa Lisbon back. This time, he'll not screw this.