I had to bend Lisbon's character a little bit to talk her into a violent outbreak- she normally wouldn't do that, but I needed her far away from CBI for what I had in mind.

Brave Little Soldier is a term that often comes to my mind when I think about agent Lisbon- I think she's very well capable to put Jane's well-being above her own.

And: I have no idea what Luther Wainwright's character will be like, I completely made him up. Sorry, Bruno! And needless to say: I have no idea yet how Mr. Heller will free Jane…but that's not really important in this story. This is only about Lisbon's (and Jane's) feelings and how they cope with them.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Just messing around.

Brave Little Soldier

She wasn't allowed to touch him, and it drove her insane.

Whenever she so much as extended her hand to cover his, a guard came up and interrupted the contact- a contact she needed so much. To make sure he was still there. To sort through this mess Teresa Lisbon's emotional landscape had become.

For she didn't know what she felt anymore. And she had no time to feel anyway, so she swallowed the painful stirrings like a searing lump- she felt it all the way down. Her insides where boiling.

Her thoughts centered on the weapon. Where the hell was it? Who had taken it?

After she had decided to believe Patrick Jane, that was all she could think about.

She had watched the surveillance video from the mall a hundred times. Had found every person who had been close to Jane and the man he called Red John the moment the shots had fallen. Who had been able to take the gun?

Free him. Free him. Free him.

Nothing else was in her mind.

Free him.

She couldn't sleep. Spent the nights thinking hard. Spent the days investigating, doing the tedious, the difficult, the tough stuff.

Until all her options had narrowed down to one single possibility: the policemen who had arrested Jane.

Nobody else had been close enough.

Means and opportunity. But motive?

She needed to take a look into the guys' personal affairs.

So one morning, she stood in front of Luther Wainwright, newly acclaimed chief of the Serious Crimes Unit.

He looked so young. She had no idea how this boy had climbed the ladder that fast…well, thoughts like that had to wait.

Free him. No matter what.

Luther Wainwright looked at her thoughtfully.

"Agent Lisbon" he said, his voice even younger than his face, "I admire your work- and your dedication, believe me. You're loyal to your team, I understand that. But the evidence against this policeman isn't strong enough to justify a search warrant. Hoppner is an honorable guy without a single flaw in his personal files. I can't order his house searched because of…"

He paused for a moment, looking at his agent. She looked desperate. Driven.

"…your frantic wish to get Mr. Jane free, though I can imagine…"

"Pardon?" Lisbon interrupted, her voice deadly calm. Icy. "Mr. Jane is innocent. Red John was a threat to him if there ever was one. He killed in self-defense. It is mandatory to find that weapon- and I know where, agent Wainwright: in Hoppner's freaking house. So get me the damn warrant and let me tear the place apart!"

"Agent Lisbon," Wainwright said softly, folding his hands on the table, "this is exactly what I'm afraid of, and I'm sorry-I can't allow it."

Weeks of hard work, no sleep, not enough food, everything came crashing down on Lisbon's head. She felt drawn under, saw the torrent swirling far above her. A red haze clouded her vision.

"You can't allow it?" Lisbon yelled, "Each day we stand around like fools doing nothing, Mr. Jane is all alone in jail, facing a possible death penalty. Do you have any idea how he's feeling, BOSS?"

"Agent Lisbon," Wainwright sighed, "I understand your agitation…"

Lisbon grabbed the chair in front of his desk and flung it against the pane that separated the chief's office from the hallway. The glass shattered with a satisfying storm of noise, Lisbon felt her nostrils flare. She wanted to destroy more.

Wainwright had jumped up, his eyes were big like saucers.

But the kid didn't need long to regain control, she had to give him that.

"Because of your extraordinary achievements for this unit," he said calmly, "I will not suspend you for that, agent Lisbon, so this …accident will not find its way into your personal file. But you're on sick leave- you show symptoms of severe stress. You are not to come back for a month. Get some rest, agent. I need you in good health. And so does Mr. Jane."

"Agent Wainwr…,"

"Dismissed, agent Lisbon! Come back in a month. And work on your problems. If you don't, you'll get yourself suspended after all."


The office was dark.

Lisbon felt her tears like traces of heat against her cheeks.

She was a complete failure. Jane had killed though she had tried to prevent it. And now she'd failed to get him out of jail. She didn't even know what she was feeling anymore.

She sensed someone entering. Cho.

"I failed him." She whispered, "I didn't manage to get him free."

Rigsby and van Pelt stepped into her office.

"We'll get him out", Cho said, "promise. We will bail him out. No matter what it takes."

Lisbon looked at him. She could hardly see his face in the gloomy darkness.

"Get better soon, boss," Cho muttered, "we need you. And he needs you, too."


Teresa Lisbon could feel the chill from the ocean. It touched her like a faint memory. But somehow, all around her was numbness.

She'd been here for three days now, all alone in Jonathan's secluded cottage by the sea. He hardly came here anymore, so he'd gladly handed her the keys. Oregon was cold at this time of the year. Lisbon welcomed the cold. It made her feel something besides the turmoil deep inside her, this painful storm of longing and heartbroken dreams that threatened to overwhelm her whenever she stopped fighting it for a second.

She couldn't eat anymore. Not one single bit. She preferred emptiness, couldn't allow anything else for now.

She could just walk. And she did.

She started when the thinking became too much to bear. In the morning hours, when the mist still hovered above the ocean.

And Teresa Lisbon walked. For hours. Through torrential rainfall. Through icy winds. Getting wet. Getting cold. Getting utterly, thoroughly numb. Mindless.

She ignored the pains in her legs. The hunger. The desperate, agonizing longing that accompanied her everywhere.

When she came back to the house in the darkness she was so exhausted she could hardly move. She tried to make herself some tea. But her hands shook too much to accomplish anything.

So she just sat in the darkness, looking out of the window. Craving. What exactly?

She didn't know. Couldn't think.

All she knew was that she could very well die here. And hardly anybody would miss her.


The county jail looked as huge and intimidating as it always did. Cho waited in front of the building, leaning against his car, waiting for CBI's most notorious consultant.

Jane smiled as he shook Cho's hand. Part of him would have liked to hug him- but Jane hadn't been touched for so long, he felt- raw. He was sure Cho would understand.

Jane wore his usual three-piece-suit and savored being himself again. The motions, straightening his jacket, opening and closing the button when he changed posture, were second nature to him. He brushed his hand over the soft fabric. He loved those suits. They belonged to him.

"Thank you, Cho," he said softly, "I appreciate your efforts. I'm glad to be free."

"Don't thank me," Cho stated calmly, "thank agent Lisbon. She was the one who unearthed Hoppner as the most likely suspect. I just had to find evidence to justify a search warrant. Hoppner was an idiot- bad choice for an accomplice. He'd put the proof of his guilt in plain sight in his apartment."

Jane nodded solemnly.

"I will thank agent Lisbon," he said, straightening his jacket, "as soon as I see her…so…where is she at the moment?"

Cho hesitated. He was worried, and he knew Jane could see it.

"She is…gone." Cho muttered.

For a moment, a void of blackness swallowed Jane's heart. The shock whipped through his system like wildfire. His breath became shallow. And he had no idea why.

"Temporarily," Cho said, sensing Jane's terror, "Sick leave. She….had a violent outbreak. In the new boss' office."

"A violent outbreak?" Jane whispered, "Lisbon?"

He couldn't believe it. She was so restrained, oblivious to her own needs, feelings. Always fighting on like the brave little soldier she was. What had happened?

She'd seen him in prison- he'd noticed her barely contained pain, and it had hurt him, too. They hadn't had the chance to talk things through. So many people around them. He knew she had wanted to touch him. Knew that the guards had prevented it. He abhorred touch. But somehow, he'd sensed that he wouldn't have minded hers that much.

A bitter sense of loss settled in the pit of his stomach. And suddenly, he missed her so much he could hardly breathe through the emotion.

"Listen, Jane," Cho said, "I'm worried. She switched off her phone. And nobody knows where she has gone to. I thought you might have a chance to guess where she could be now. We have to find her. She was very distraught when I saw her the last time. We are her friends- we should be there for her now."

Jane nodded.

"I'll search her office," he said, "I might be able to deduce where she went."


Only an hour later, Jane sat behind Lisbon's desk on her chair and searched through her drawers. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He found a black, silky scarf in one of the drawers and lifted it to his face. Her scent still clung to the fabric. Cinnamon. A slight pang pierced his heart. Where could she be?

He got up and randomly opened cupboards. In one of them he found a black book that seemed strangely out of place, all alone in the closet. Picking it up, he noticed a small piece of paper that had been inserted between the pages. He opened the book slowly- she had put down a name and a phone-number: Jonathan Lisbon. Jane smiled to himself. There was an address written on the piece of paper. And obviously Lisbon had used an official letter to scrawl it down: the date was printed on top of it. October 10th. The day Wainwright had sent Lisbon on sick-leave.


He drove all night to get to her, stopping only to buy some groceries.

Freedom felt still strange and he started to notice that he hadn't slept in a while. Exhaustion was slowly blurring his vision, and it took some bio-feedback to reinforce enough watchfulness to make it to Jonathan Lisbon's hide-out deep in rural Oregon.

Jane loved the landscape. It was fresh and earthy, the chill only adding to its appeal, lush forests everywhere, combined with a horizon so magnificent he had to remember to close his mouth from time to time. He drove into the sunrise. But it was late afternoon when he reached his destination at the northern coast of Oregon.

The little house was placed next to a forest, and it was balanced so close at the cliff's edge that it seemed ready to be sucked down with the next flood. But it was utterly charming: made from grey wood, a small veranda facing the wild ocean. It was stormy today, so the waves were crashing onshore with angry vigor, the sounds of the sea drowning everything else.

Jane got out and picked up the brown paper bags containing his groceries.

She opened on the first knock.

Jane saw the emotions flickering over her face. She looked like hell. So pale and thin, her eyes so sad he almost let go of the bags to take her into his arms. But something stopped him.

"Hey, Lisbon," he said, digging for a cheerfulness he didn't truly feel, "I brought ice cream- and some serious food, you look close to starving, woman."

He passed her by without waiting for an invitation.

"Close the door, dear," he exclaimed, putting the bags down on the kitchen counter, "it's getting cold in here!"

He heard the clap of the door.

"Jane." She whispered softly.

He turned. And he saw it. Damn.

A feeling so strong she couldn't have hidden it from him. No matter how hard she'd tried.

He forced himself to avert his eyes. There was nothing he could say about that right now. He couldn't get this serious, or everything might be lost. So he made his voice light and joyous by an almost superhuman effort.

"Yes, it's me", he crooned, "I thought I should come for a visit. Thank you for getting Hoppner."

"It wasn't me." She said, sounding so tired and empty he cringed slightly, "It was Cho."

He turned.

"May you and Cho please come to a mutual understanding whom I have to thank for my freedom? Or, wait- I'll just thank both of you. Makes it lots easier."

He whistled happily while he unpacked the groceries and started to cook immediately. Lisbon didn't even wonder how he instinctively found all the pans and pots he needed without even looking. He did things like that effortlessly, just like that.

She sat down at the counter and watched him silently. Watched him like a dream that would evaporate into nothing the second she raised her voice. But he was here. And the kitchen started to smell delicious.

She wasn't hungry, her stomach was tied in knots, cramping. She shivered.

Jane noticed out of the corner of his eye.

"I should start a fire," he said softly, "pretty cold here, huh?"

He put the casserole down in front of her- lasagna.

"Here." He said softly, dipping a fork in before lifting it to her face, "You have to eat something."

"Sorry, Jane," she whispered, "it's thoughtful of you, but…I'm not hungry. Maybe later."

He lowered the fork and leant over the counter.

"Lisbon," he said fondly, "you look incredibly hungry, my dear. Please…eat something. For me."

For him. She looked at him, and her gaze was like a caress. How much she had missed him. How desperately, mindlessly, agonizingly she had longed to be with him. She wanted to touch him, brush the stray strands of hair from his forehead, trace the graceful arch of his lips with her fingers. But she knew how much he hated to be touched, especially randomly. So she folded her hands in front of her.

His eyes were so warm and mesmerizing, and a wave of earth-shattering tenderness washed through her. Tears were bubbling up, filling her throat, her eyes, and she saw how he read the emotions from her face, one by one.

"You know what," he said eventually, "maybe you should sleep first. I'll put you to bed. You look tired enough to break down on me."

He walked around the counter and grabbed her hand, and she allowed him to lead her into her bedroom. She felt defenseless and confused. She noticed her own tiredness when her head hit the pillow, but she couldn't surrender, her body rigid and cold, refusing to relax.

"Come on," Jane whispered, "let me tuck you in, little agent Lisbon."

He covered her with the blanket, securing it all around her. She was covered up to her chin.

Damn, her eyes were huge in this sweet, tiny face. With the luscious, marvelous lips.

He pressed a small kiss to her forehead. It wasn't a miracle she wasn't asleep yet.

"Can't you sleep?," he whispered, "Shall I sing something for you?"

He thought for a moment and started to sing.

Patrick Jane wasn't exactly a great singer, but his voice was so sweet and soothing that Lisbon felt a tiny smile curl her lips. The first smile in weeks.

Jane saw it and smiled back, his full-fledged megawatt smile.

He kissed her cheek, producing a satisfying smack before his lips left her skin.

"Sleep well, Lisbon," he breathed, "you'll feel better tomorrow."

And he got up and left the room quietly.


He felt strange and rattled, pacing the living room, constantly pushing his hand through his hair (which looked pretty disheveled by now).

Her sheer closeness was wreaking havoc on his feelings. Part of him wanted to storm into her bedroom, sink to his knees in front of her and inquire what she wanted…he would do everything, everything to make her feel better, to get the smile back on her face. He released a shaky breath.

He hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected her to suffer that much. And he hadn't expected her to…

He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water into his face.

He had sworn he would never approach a woman again after the disastrous date with Kristina Frye. Sworn he would never go through something like that again. Now he felt almost cheated- his heart had been stolen. And he hadn't been fast enough to prevent it.

His legs felt wobbly, this damned tiredness. He would lay down in the spare bedroom, just for a minute. Just to close his eyes once, to rest his lids. Then he would get up and clean the kitchen, maybe watch some TV and think about Lisbon some more, trying to decide what he had to do to protect his heart. And hers.

Just for a second…the pillow was soft, and he remembered the kiss he had pressed on her cheek, the softness of her skin beneath his lips…so much softer than this pillow.

And this was the last coherent thought that entered Patrick Jane's mind for the rest of the night.


She woke up to a feeling of suffocation and utter restlessness. She needed to move with an urgency so strong she hardly managed to put on some clothes first.

She acted like an automaton, every movement mechanical, her mind to upset to take part, until she opened the front door and headed out, drawing a deep breath, sucking the chilly morning air into her lungs.

She just started to walk, passing the light blue Citroen without noticing it. She hardly felt the pouring rain. Her eyes were glued to the horizon.


He felt drowsy when he opened his eyes, but surprisingly rested. He jumped up. Damn, the sun was up already! He stormed into the living room, his gaze falling upon the clock above the front door…almost noon. It had been eons since he'd slept that long.

He stretched, yawning heartily, before he stopped dead in his tracks…Lisbon was gone. He didn't need to search the rooms. He sensed it. He grabbed his jacket and was already out the front door. It had been raining for quite a while, he could see it from the puddles that had formed everywhere. Her car was still in the driveway. So, which direction would she go?

Not into the forest. Lisbon felt caged enough to walk out into an almost flash flood. She wouldn't seek out anything narrow or crowded. She would head into the open space. To the East was the mountain. To the West was the ocean. To the North was the forest. That left the South. The great, grey nothing.

He got into the car and sped up as fast as he could.


It didn't take long to find her, though she'd managed a sizeable distance. She'd possibly started well before dawn. And he had slept through it.

She was a tiny shape at the edge of the road, the loneliness radiating from her ate at his soul. Why couldn't he touch her more when he was feeling so much?

He came to a halt next to her and opened the passenger door.

"Get in!" He shouted.

She hesitated for a second, her eyes sad and distraught. But she got in eventually. She was drenched, rain running over her face in thick rivulets. She didn't look at him. Every fiber of his body screamed for her, it was deafening.

"What are you doing out here?", he asked softly, keeping his voice gentle, unobtrusive.

"I'm walking." She whispered. He almost didn't hear her.

"You've done that before." He stated, and she nodded immediately.

"All the time."

It was silent for a moment.

"Let's go home, Lisbon," he said eventually, "and the next time you feel the urge to walk until you collapse, tell me. We'll find another way."

He started the car and drove back, ushering her inside as fast as he could.

She stood in the living room, dripping, shivering, teeth chattering, lips tinted a bluish hue. Jane was busy in the bathroom while she just stood there, feeling almost dazed from the cold and the endless walk.

Jane grabbed her shoulders, making her look at him.

"Listen, Lisbon," he said intently, "You go to the bathroom now- I just prepared you a hot bath. I give you ten minutes to undress and get into the tub…before I come looking after you. If you are not decently covered by lots of bubbles then- well."

He pushed her into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Sighing, he closed his eyes briefly before he went to work. He cleaned the kitchen fast and effectively, preparing everything for the chicken casserole he'd planned for tonight.

Then he went into the bathroom and looked after her.

She lay in the tub, her eyes closed, submerged up to her chin. She was mostly covered by bubbles, but he could guess the contours of her delicate body through the water. A strange feeling swirled through his guts. She looked almost peaceful.

He left the door open, but didn't look when he heard her leaving the tub eventually. He gave her some minutes of privacy to cover herself before he turned.

She stood in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection, a large towel wrapped around her torso. He approached her without thinking, needing to get closer, driven by an urge he couldn't comprehend. He moved behind her and waited until her eyes found his in the mirror.

"You're tense, aren't you?" He whispered.

His fingers touched her shoulder and jerked back as if burnt, only to seek out her skin again moments later. His touch was soft, tentative. He felt her rigid muscles and knew she probably had a killer headache.

"Let me help.", he breathed and started to knead her shoulders, carefully working the knots from her flesh. She leant back against him and felt him stiffen, but he didn't stop his soft massage, and Lisbon sighed, her eyes fluttering shut, when the throbbing pain behind her temples slowly subsided.

Her neck invited him to kiss it, but he couldn't do it. He stared at her milky skin, drawn, mesmerized, but he couldn't touch his lips to it. He allowed his thumb the briefest of caresses, though, and felt her shudder.

He stood on the porch while she dressed and watched the whipping ocean.

What was he doing? Shouldn't he go? He couldn't, though, and he damn well knew it. She wouldn't stop to destroy herself without him. And he couldn't allow her to sneak out of his life.

He spent the afternoon trying to make her smile, and he was quite successful.

Taking care to keep his distance physically, he entertained her with stories and jokes, showed her magic tricks and sat next to her in comfortable silence, staring into the fire he had started hours ago. He noticed that she shivered despite the warmth. And he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close without flinching.

His breath hitched slightly, though. He felt the heat of her small body. Damn, she was tiny. He absolutely had to feed her. Make her eat- no matter what he had to do. Sure there was something she wanted, something he could use to bribe her …

When he pulled the casserole out of the oven, he had made up his mind. He would do anything to make her eat- anything.

He took a fork and put the chicken casserole down in front of her- she had chosen her usual seat at the counter.

"Okay," he said slowly, dipping the fork into the deliciously smelling food, "this is how it's gonna work: for every bite you eat…I'm going to kiss you. One bite- one kiss. Until you say stop."

For a moment, she was completely dumbfounded, staring at him in wide-eyed wonder, not really comprehending what he'd just said.

Jane put a forkful of the casserole into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Hmmm," he said, extending the newly filled fork towards her, "it's pretty good- care to take a bite?"

Lisbon looked at him and made a decision. She had suffered for weeks. Lived for the case. Had given so much there was hardly anything left of her when she came here.

When she'd been shot by O'Loughlin, she had started to think about the whole mess her life had become. And she'd realized that there was one thing she could hold onto, one thing that had given her the strength to go on when the chips were down. He had been there when she'd been strapped into the bomb vest, he had supported her, been ready to die with her. The way he had breathed into the phone when he had realized that she was injured. She'd been so close to him then, and in this moment she had understood what exactly it was she was feeling for him.

It had been a major revelation for her, and she'd been determined to tell him everything.

When she'd been put on a gurney and loaded into the ambulance, she had sworn she would tell him- the second she had the chance, the second she saw him.

And the next thing she'd seen was Cho- telling her that Jane had killed a guy just minutes ago. Killed. In cold blood.

Everything had been gone then. Every ounce of her focused on getting him free. She wasn't allowed to touch him. Couldn't talk to him alone. Heard the judge speak about the death penalty as if that wouldn't mean the end of her life as well. Brave little soldier. She had plowed on until her feelings had been numb and confused again, every hint of revelation gone from her mind. Lost. So far away she couldn't touch it. Just as she couldn't touch him. But he didn't like her touch anyway, did he?

She watched him closely. He was offering his kiss. And damn- she couldn't afford to decline.

"With tongue?" she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Jane froze. But he saw something in her eyes that had been gone for quite a while. A spark of life, a challenge. And he definitely wanted to see more of that.

"With tongue." He said matter-of-factly.

"Okay." she said softly and took the bite he offered her.

Jane was as nervous as he hadn't been in decades. He watched her chew and waited until she had finished. For a moment, the world stopped turning, and Jane's feelings tackled him from behind, meeting him utterly defenseless. Her lips were red, red like the sin, and he forgot everything, his past, his guilt, the stay in prison. He bowed down and claimed her mouth, shuddering when he contacted her softness, the richness of her sweet flesh, so alluring he couldn't pull back. He was lost in a sensual haze woven of pure emotions, and he wasn't able to find any regret inside him. He let his tongue trace the exquisite contours of her mouth and sighed when her lips parted, granting him access into a world of delicious wonders. Their tongues met and he started the gentle dance, plundering her mouth with utter care, igniting the tender nerves which had been fast asleep for so long.

They broke the kiss when they needed to catch their breaths.

Jane filled the next fork and offered it to her, his hands trembling so much he was afraid he would hurt her. She grabbed his wrist and swallowed the food.

Lisbon felt the electric shock of his kiss again the moment he made contact. His tongue was urgent this time, pressing inside her mouth with unadulterated passion, dueling with hers, engaging it in a sweet fight that stole her breath.

It got worse from kiss to kiss, and when they had been at it for quite a while it felt like pure sex. Jane knew he had to stop this, had to stop it soon before things got severely out of hand, his erection was throbbing with need, hard and heavy between his legs, already forbidden images were crashing through his mind, damn him, he had to stop…

He broke the kiss and brought distance between them, scrambling backwards until his back hit the fridge.

He looked at her, his frantic breath searing his lungs, tears stinging his eyes. Her gaze was calm, her cheeks flushed with arousal. Her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Damn, he needed more. Knowing that he absolutely couldn't take more.

He turned away and pushed both arms against the wall, lowering his head. He was no help like this. He was a complete wreck, and his body felt like a numb limb just waking up again- it was sheer agony. His erection hurt so much he didn't know how he should survive it.

He stormed out of the room and onto the porch. It was icy cold, but he hardly noticed, he just sat down and hugged his knees against his chest, sobbing like mad, shaking all over.

Lisbon acted on instinct. She followed him and sat down next to him, wrapping as much of him as she could into a tight embrace.

And damn- her touch felt so good he whimpered in gratitude, snuggling up to her, feeling her warmth perfuse his trembling body.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Jane. I took advantage of you. I should have stopped it."

"No," he breathed, "no. Don't say you're sorry, please. I…I don't regret it, Lisbon. But for pleasure like this, I have to pay the price. It's...it's been so long and I'm…I'm so broken. It's me, Lisbon. Believe me- I try to get better, but- I need time. Just a little time."

She nodded against his hair and cradled him against her until she felt the chill of the cold October winds to her bones. They moved inside and spent the rest of the evening at the fireside, utterly silent. Jane didn't shy away from her touch any longer- he had put his head against her shoulder and didn't move once. She enjoyed the faint tickle of his blond curls against her cheek.

She loved him. Loved him so much the feeling almost suffocated her. But she would take what he could give. She wouldn't demand more, even if the longing killed her.

Jane lifted his head and looked at her.

"Let's go to bed," he said softly, "violent arousal seems to drain all of my energy."

She almost smiled at that. It was always nice now to get a glimpse of pure Jane, even in the direst crisis imaginable.

And she felt better. Warmer. More alive. The insane urge to walk was gone, and the sensation of a filled stomach was utterly pleasant. Her cheeks were still flushed with the sweet lust his kisses had induced. She couldn't help it- she wanted him. Desired him. So what. She wouldn't hide any longer.

"Okay," she said, and he hesitated for a moment before he took her hand and led her into her bedroom.

He tucked her in again.

"Listen, my dear," he whispered, framing her face with his hand, looking her directly in the eyes, "do you hear the wind chasing around the house- around…and around…and around…how it sweeps up the leaves and swirls them around….and around...and around…do you hear it….the soft sound of the wind…around…and around…your eyes close and you will sleep deeply and peacefully, and when the sun comes up, you'll wake up and feel relaxed and deeply rested. And I'll be there."

He kissed her forehead and lay down next to her. It was only a light trance, and he wouldn't risk another escape. He would stay here tonight, right next to her. And when she tried to run again, he would be there to stop her. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, reveling in her breath, so quiet and peaceful.

He woke close to midnight feeling too warm, and shed some random clothes, semi-somnolent, simply tossing them on the floor. He went back to sleep without remembering he'd been awake.


Lisbon felt happy when she woke up. For the first time in months. She wasn't hungry, wasn't cold. Didn't feel the awful restlessness that had driven her from the house every morning. She stretched her whole body, yawning heartily. She startled before she released her breath. Jane was lying next to her in an interesting state of undress. He lay on his stomach, clad in his open shirt, socks and a dark green pair of tight-fitting boxers.

Lisbon felt her mouth physically watering. His buttocks were fairly prominent in those boxers. And the view was spectacular.

His butt was utterly shapely, taut and round, the hard muscle discernible even through the clothes. Lisbon groaned. She should definitely leave him alone. She would just brush it- just once.

Damn- why had nobody warned her about how good that felt? She petted him again, a little tighter. She felt the muscles tense beneath her hands. Damn, he was sexy. She kneaded his round flesh a little- just a tiny little bit. A little harder. She bit her lip to stifle the groan that threatened to escape her throat. Why was he such a major turn-on, everything about him?

Just five minutes of indulgence…she would never do it again. And he was asleep, wasn't he? She looked carefully. His eyes were still closed. He would never know what she had done.

She felt utterly ashamed but couldn't have resisted to save her life.

She squatted down next to his hips and bulled the boxers down…just a little bit. Just so that the whole of his luxurious tush was revealed.

She bowed down and kissed his skin, so smooth over the firm hardness of his muscles. Her fingers followed the path of her lips, stroking where she had kissed, brushing over the tiny, moist swirls her tongue left on his butt. She kissed every inch of it, reveling in its softness and the tension she felt beneath the silky skin. The brush of her hand got stronger, more urgent. She felt her murderous arousal, throbbing between her legs, thoroughly saturating her panties.

This had to stop. Now. She sighed in deep regret and licked over the spot where his buttocks met his thighs- and felt his whole body jerk beneath her. She froze in mortification.

Looking up, her eyes met his. She felt herself blushing all over, and for a second, no words came out though her mouth was moving.

"I'm sorry," she muttered eventually, "I…I'm so sorry, I absolutely had no right to…damn, you could have my skin for this, I don't know what I've been thin…"

"It felt wonderful." He said softly, and Lisbon was speechless.

She lay down next to him, pushing his boxers back up. She move to her stomach to mimic his posture and turned her head, so that her face was level with his, their noses almost touching. He sighed.

"I don't know what's going to happen," he whispered softly, "I'm not psychic. I'm pretty damaged, Lisbon. But I can promise you this: there'll be no other one. And I can gladly announce that I most obviously don't suffer from erectile dysfunction at the moment."

She chuckled, feeling light-hearted all of a sudden.

"I'll come along, Teresa." He whispered "I couldn't bear to be touched at all only three days ago. And now I just thoroughly enjoyed you kissing my backside. That's a big improvement, I'd say."

This time she laughed, and the sound warmed his heart. He smiled at her and she felt absurdly happy. Like a little child. She giggled helplessly until he pressed a kiss to her mouth and swallowed her laughter fondly, smiling against her lips.


The day was perfect.

They took a walk together, wandering along the beach, talking about everything that came to their minds. Jane held her hand the whole time, and the contact felt good, like a soothing balm on a festering wound.

She felt his insecurity whenever he tentatively deepened the physical contact, and wished fiercely that nobody had ever managed to hurt him- that he'd lived a happy, oblivious life with his wife and his daughter- even if that would mean she couldn't have him. She just wanted to stop his pain, wipe the sorrow from his beautiful face. Erase the guilt from his soul.

"I'm glad I'm here," he said softly, squeezing her hand, "with you. I'm glad I'm free. And I'm glad I'm still alive."

She smiled and simply wanted to take that day, take it as a whole and enclose it in her memories so it could never leave her.

They went home in the twilight, and she volunteered to prepare dinner tonight.

He watched her make her famous Sicilian meatballs, a cup of tea in front of him. He felt wildly in love, and suddenly his famished body longed for her touch. Skin that had run thirsty for so long. Now it craved the soft brush of her hands.

He shuddered whenever he thought about the morning. He'd never felt such profound sexual arousal before. He'd been awake the moment she had started to touch him, but something about her caress, its vigor, the heat he could feel in every stroke, every pet, had taken his breath away, rendering him unable to stop her. And suddenly, it had all been about pleasure, her kisses on his naked skin, so soft and reverent, and so sexy he'd been shocked at first. Lisbon was no little prude, that was for sure. But what she'd done to him had felt indescribably good. The way her tongue had trailed the juncture between his butt and thighs…he shuddered again. He felt the rush of blood into his groin area- everything about those sensations seemed new to him. But he wouldn't run away. Not this time. Not from this woman.

He looked at her. She was still too thin, but the ghastly pallor was gone, and the sparkle was back in her beautiful green eyes. She smiled at him, and her smile was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. He would battle all his demons for her. He just had to concentrate on the way she made him feel. Just like he'd done this morning.

"Are you cold?" she asked softly.

"No," he smiled, "I was just thinking."

"Dinner is ready." She chuckled and carried the plate of meatballs and bread to the couch.

"We're dining at the fireside?", Jane asked, walking over to her, placing his hand on the small of her back. "Do I have to feed you again?"

It was pretty heavy flirting for him, and his breath accelerated. He still felt like an absolute beginner on this territory.

"Yes." She said simply.

Jane sat down on the couch, looking up to her.

"What do I have to do this time to make you eat?", he smiled.

"For every bite I take, you take off one piece of clothing."

His smile froze. Her gaze was unwavering, but he saw in her eyes that she knew exactly what she asked of him. Somehow, the knowledge that she truly wanted him, that she wasn't ready to let this fade into a platonic relationship, felt good. But he was scared nonetheless. Eight years. Eight years full of pain. He knew without a doubt that she was the one. He just didn't know if he could give that much right now.

He watched her closely, and his heart melted. He loved her. He startled softly when he noticed the thought for what it was. Yes. He loved her. He felt guilty. And loved her nonetheless.

"Okay," he said, "but only if you do the same."

She picked up a piece of meatball and put it in her mouth. Patrick Jane slowly shed his jacket.


He was stalling with his socks and shoes, so she did the same. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She couldn't believe she had challenged him. She couldn't believe he had accepted. She couldn't believe this would end where she hoped it would. It was almost dark in the room, only the soft glow of the fire illuminated the scene.

Jane sighed and dropped his shirt. Lisbon draw a shuddering breath. Damn, he was even more beautiful without clothes. Somehow, she had thought that would be impossible. His pants and boxers remained. She was clad in bra and panties. He had dire problems to keep his eyes on her face. She smiled seductively before she picked up another piece of meatball and put it against his lips.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his head away, "I'm not hungry anymore."

She lowered her hand, a killer pout forming on her lush lips.

Jane rolled his eyes.

"Just kidding," he said, grabbing her wrist and taking the meatball from her fingers with his teeth, chewing carefully before licking up the remaining crumbs with his nimble tongue, "Where is your famous humor these days, Lisbon?"

She slapped his bare chest.

"You're awful, Patrick Jane." She scowled.

But she got up and put her hands behind her back. She felt every single sensation, her heartbeat throbbed in every fiber of her body. She opened the clip of her bra and let the garment slide to the floor.

Lisbon's breasts were surprisingly full (she was truly tiny everywhere else) and absolutely perfect. And her rosy pale nipples were screaming for his mouth. He could hear it. And see it.

His eyes seemed to turn black, the dilating pupils swallowing his irises.

"Maybe I shouldn't take off my pants right now," he teased, his voice rough, "I'm not sure if it's a pretty sight."

She eyed the considerable bulge at the front of his slacks.

She smiled when she took another bite of meatball.

"Pretty or not," she drawled, "I'm dying to see it."

He got up slowly and opened his belt, his eyes glued to hers. He was so nervous he couldn't hear anything above the rush of his blood. He lowered the zipper and dropped his pants, stepping out of them carefully.

Lisbon inhaled through her nostrils.

"Let's do the last one together," she breathed, and both took another piece of meatball, eating them simultaneously.

They got rid of the last piece of clothing then. The final barrier. Gone. If they stopped now, Patrick Jane would definitely be in need of a very cold shower. And pretty was the understatement of the century. The sight was breathtaking. So impressive her lips formed a perfect O.

Jane saw the appreciation in her gaze and smiled sheepishly.

He felt self-conscious. Lisbon was unbelievably petite- what if he hurt them both? He did want it to be perfect. What if he spoiled everything with this nerve-wracking excitement that coursed through his body?

But she shushed him, pulling him closer, moaning softly when the heat of his erection pushed against her abdomen.

He kissed her neck and pushed her down onto the couch, kneeling between her legs. His strong hands spread her legs, every movement soft, almost shy.

His erection nudged her core and she felt she couldn't breathe. He looked at her. His eyes hot and hypnotic. So intense she felt burned.

She saw his fluttering nerves in his gaze. Felt the penetration of his glans, pressing into her. His eyes went round, huge like saucers. His breath slid in small little puffs from his pretty lips.

"It's okay, Jane," she whispered, pressing closer against him, feathering soft kisses over his jaw and throat, "it's just me."

"Just you?" he asked hoarsely, "You're a dangerous sorceress, Lisbon. I'd never have thought that somebody would be able to seduce me after everything that happened to me. I'm pretty scared of you right now."

"Go deeper," she breathed, "and maybe I won't hurt you."

"Okay," he said meekly and slid into her to the hilt with one deep, sure stroke.

For a moment, her body seemed to stop functioning. Blood, heartbeat, senses- everything gone while her core stretched for him, accepted his girth, opened for his intrusion like a flower. She made a desperate sound in the depths of her throat, felt his hands against her buttocks, pulling her closer. He was so hard she could feel every single pulsating vein against her walls.

He had closed his eyes, and she knew he tried to integrate the sensations into his systems. Tried to keep himself from running. Tried to comprehend this "too much" he must be feeling right now. She tried not to move, just brushed his back with soft, gentle fingertips, watching him closely.

When he opened his eyes, she saw tears shimmering in their depths.

"Do you want to stop?," she asked, her voice trembling with arousal. He grew even larger inside her, harder. Rasping against tender nerves, making her shudder all over.

"No," he said firmly, clutching her body against his, "I want you."

He gripped her hips to keep her in place and started to move, deep, hard strokes, savoring the impact at the end, watching her body shake beneath him with the force of it. She leant against the backrest, gasping when fierce lust grabbed her body, making her soar with desire. Jane bowed down and sucked one of her soft nipples into his mouth, moaning deeply when her taste invaded his senses. She was addictive, exquisite. She handed himself over to her- to the mind-blowing pleasure she ignited in his body. Yes, he was scared, but she was there to hold him. She reached behind his back and grabbed his buttocks, pulling him closer into her, bucking against his thrusting hips.

"I could easily develop an unhealthy obsession with your backside, Jane," she groaned.

"No problem," he growled, gasping when she kneaded his tensing muscles, "it loves you, too."

His hips gyrated, heightening the sensations running through her body.

"And it's not the only part of you I plan to get obsessed with," she cried out, "Please- faster, Jane, you're killing me!"

His hands spanned her waist, and he complied, going faster, harder, deeper, pounding into her with powerful thrusts, feeling her slick sheath clutch at him, she was so tight, she demanded everything of him, and suddenly he knew that he could give what she needed, and his soul opened up, memories flying away, guilt melting into searing pleasure, his eyes fluttered shut while his hips were pumping relentlessly, he felt every inch of her, felt the rubbing sensation of her swollen clit against his shaft every time he surged into her. She cried out with every new thrust, he sensed her impending climax in the deep tension of her lower body and angled her hips to go even deeper. She screamed and shattered in his arms, her core convulsing all around him, and he gritted his teeth to keep up his rhythm, his cock so hard now it seemed to burst inside her, her clenching womb sucked on him, sweat broke out all over his skin, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist he came so hard it felt like dying.

He doubled over, sobbing into her shoulder when he spilled inside her with so much force it felt like a thrust. She felt every single spurt of delicious heat deep inside her, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck while her walls convulsed again with every jolt of semen he spent in her tight body. She felt the wetness of his tears against her skin when he finally stilled, his breath rapid, his frame shaking against her.

For a moment, they seemed immersed in the silence, aftershocks rumbling through their veins like pulsating wildfire.

Jane almost collapsed in front of the couch, sliding out of her in the process, and she felt the hot trickle of his semen between her legs, shuddering slightly. He pressed his cheek against her chest, listening to her frantic heartbeat, concentrating on the soothing sound to distract himself from the fierce jolts of pleasure piercing his body. Too hot, too wild, too much. The soft rush of satisfaction started to spread slowly, bathing his insides in warmth. He sighed when the almost painful lust evaporated, leaving only bliss and a soft awareness for the beautiful woman in his arms. She had helped him through this, and finally, he felt free. Free to love again.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice full of heart-felt emotion, "don't get me wrong- you've chosen the worst possible boyfriend material here. But yes, I love you. I love you fiercely. And I promise you, Teresa- I'll try."

She pressed him closer, and he welcomed the feeling.

When he felt in control of his body again, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, slipping between the sheets beside her. He felt warm and exhausted, like molten butter, ready to fall asleep with exhaustion.

He'd pulled her body flush against his. Not long ago the sensual overload would have killed him, now he reveled in the feeling of her smooth skin against his. Every breath she took had her breasts rubbing against his chest. And he loved this little obsession of hers: Lisbon's tiny hands were grabbing his tush, kneading slightly. It made him hard, but he didn't mind as long as she stayed close.

"I love you, Patrick Jane," she whispered when he was almost asleep, "I wanted to tell you after I was shot. But I never had the chance. I love you."

And Patrick Jane fell asleep feeling happy to the bones.

The End

Okay, what do you say? This one ended putting a lot of emphasis on Jane, it is strange that I always end with him, no matter how hard I plan to concentrate on Lisbon…I don't know. Tell me your opinion! I depend on it!