Okay- if you're asking yourself how in hell I could write something M-rated after THIS episode, just let me say one thing: if you find out- tell me.

I dug out some feelings Jane would most certainly hide, preferably even from himself, but you know me: I never let him. His calm irks me. I want it GONE.

Disclaimer: Yes, it's still Bruno's. But I'm getting impatient here, my friend.

I was struggling with the category. Is there comfort for such a hurt? I still hope so.

I'll Find You In Your Darkness

Sometimes, Jane just wanted to cease to exist. How refreshing it would be to feel nothing. Be nothing.

He sat completely still in the silence of the attic, letting the occasional sounds wash right through him, trying to silence his mind. But the night wasn't his friend this time, and he wasn't surprised.

The burden seemed too heavy right now, and his shoulders sagged under the weight.

He felt so lonely that the feeling almost didn't hurt anymore. It was like being submerged in something dark and thick. Like ink. Or tar. He sucked the filthy slime into his lungs. Too bad he couldn't die that way…no. No, dying wasn't an option, or Patrick Jane would have taken care of that long ago. When he closed his eyes, he saw the bloody red caricature of a smiling face. Nothing new there.

He could almost hear his joints creaking when he shifted in his seat. Maybe he should get up and roam the city for a while.

What had he done? What had he become?

He swallowed. Meh, no need to get overly sentimental now. He'd always known what he was. He smiled without a hint of humor. The night was alarmingly free of surprises, wasn't it? He tried to shake off the cold. Failed, of course.

So, Patrick Jane, smartest person in the room- what now? Tea? Okay. He could always go with that. Sleep? No way. Cold, fresh air? Was a definite possibility.

He sighed and allowed himself to double over, curling into a ball, his guts cramping. Maybe it would feel good to physically hurt for a while. Just throb with the pain, until tears stung his eyes and his lips trembled under the waves of agony. He felt sweat break out on his forehead when suddenly, he heard a sound. Soft and rhythmic. Footsteps. Small legs. But hell- only one person came here on a regular basis.

He fought the urge to flee, to scramble away from her. He definitely hadn't earned to be comforted. Maybe she came to yell at him, out of an obscure reason he couldn't think of at the moment. He snorted. Yeah, fat chance. Saint Teresa. She always felt his distress. She couldn't let him suffer. Damn her.

She opened the door, making a lot of noise in his suffocating quiet, and he cringed slightly. Couldn't he just say nothing, please?

His throat felt dry, parched. He doubted that he could press any words through the sore passage.

She looked so beautiful his breath hitched. Her hair a soft, cloudy mess, the strands coming loose from her bun, framing her pale face. Eyes so huge they seemed to fill his whole world, lips pouty and deep red. He swallowed and reveled in the searing pain that pierced his body.

"Hey Lisbon," he whispered, trying to sound light and sweet, knowing he failed miserably. He changed his course immediately. "I'm…lousy company tonight. So…why are you here?"

"To hold you." She said factually, shrugging softly.

Jane felt the shock deep in his bones. He hadn't bawled in years, so he swallowed and swallowed until he almost stopped breathing, swallowed until all the tears had burned in the hollow of his stomach, all the sobs had dried on their way to freedom. He felt so empty he could hear an echo deep down in the caverns of his body.

He forced a smile on his lips. Damn, she was beautiful. So beautiful he would possibly burn his fingers when he touched her. Beautiful like an angel with luminescent, flaming skin.

"I don't feel especially deserving right now," he pressed out. He felt the wildness in his gaze.

Run, little Lisbon. You don't want to associate with me.

He noticed her tough stance. An earthquake wouldn't bring her down.

"Let me decide that." She growled, and he closed his eyes in defeat.

Maybe she WOULD burn him. Turn his miserable existence to ashes. He stood.

She strode over without hesitation, Lisbon-steps, her hips swaying, head moving in this cool-cop-I-don't-really-give-a-damn-manner he so loved to mock, one eyebrow raised. She pressed her body against his, her arms unmoving at her sides, and Jane gasped when her warmth flowed into his clammy skin, exquisite warmth, making him shiver with forbidden delight. She was so small, delicate. He knew the impression was deceiving, but his body just dissipated into the sensation, just went with what it was feeling.

He slid his fingers over her arms and just sank into her, engulfing her until he was afraid he would crush her. She breathed against his neck and he opened his mouth, drawing urgent, shuddering gulps of air into his shriveled lungs.

Her arms stroked his back, and he could feel every touch like a path of fire. It burned every trace of tension out of his system. He was shaking all over when his cramping muscles came loose.

Lisbon shushed him like a little child.

She knew how desperately he needed his cool, how he hated to lose control, even for seconds. When Wainwright had deemed him a psychopath, he'd had no idea how much Jane would have liked to get rid of his emotions for a while. Just once. But Lisbon had sensed his desperation through his calm exterior the whole, dreadful evening. She'd been dying to touch him, had almost pulled him against her in front of her boss and the FBI.

She had never doubted Panzer's guilt, had long ago learned to believe in Jane. The dimensions of her trust in him scared her sometimes. It was as if she were his. And damn- it did feel that way more often than not.

She snuggled impossibly closer, inhaling his scent, Jane's scent, uniquely him. His skin felt so warm beneath her nose. His heart beat frantically. An eerie calm settled into her soul, separating her from time and space, creating a shield against reality. She tried to pull him into her tiny bubble of peace and raised her face to look into his eyes.

He looked haunted. His hands were clutching her so tightly she assumed he would leave marks on her skin. His breathing quieted the second before his lips came down on hers.

He wasn't kissing her, he told himself. They were just touching their lips to each other, just sharing some breaths. She was giving first aid, and he didn't need to worry. Her mouth was so soft, and he moved against it, absorbing the texture of the plump, downy flesh, producing tiny explosions of bliss when he separated from her with a tiny smack, only to be back immediately, his lips groping, tasting, tongue sliding into her heady sweetness on its own volition, hers curling around it in a gentle caress, mimicking the soothing embrace her arms were granting his body.

He grew frantic and tried to pull away- he couldn't do it, people got killed, his soul black and tainted from all the horror his life was, he would corrupt her, destroy all this luscious sweetness he was holding in his arms, but she pushed her hands into his hair and pulled him closer, pressing her lips against his, invading his mouth, until he gave in, kissed her back, kissed her as if she were the only source of air in his vicinity.

Her fingers dug and slipped beneath his shirt, brushing over his naked back, and the skin felt so raw there he shuddered under her touch, pushing his body closer to hers before he slid his hands beneath her shirt. She was warm, so, so warm. He met the fastener of her bra and opened it on instinct, not planning to go anywhere. Breathing into her mouth. She tasted like clean air and sunshine. It'd been so long since he had seen the sun.

He heard her shoes thud against the wall, she had kicked them off. Her hands left his skin and he almost whimpered in pain- he would do anything if she just stayed with him, his heart beat faster in his desperation to keep her. But her mouth never left his, her teeth nipping at his lips before she soothed the faint sting with her tongue.

Her pants were loose and slid down her legs without resistance, and time stopped in Jane's mind, all sounds barred beyond the thudding of his own blood. His eyes were closed. And his breathing calmed when he lifted her against him, urging her legs around his waist. For a moment, he just melted into her.

No. He didn't deserve her. But without her, everything that was good and sweet in his life would vanish. And Patrick Jane wasn't ready to die. His blood hummed through his veins.

He tightened his grip and carried her through the dark room to the table in front of the window. He sat her down carefully, his body felt awkward and strange, as if his movements were dictated by something outside his own existence, and he was just grateful that he didn't have to think for a change, that fate just granted him this short moment of oblivion.

Everything faded away. The day just disappeared from his mind, leaving a dull throb of pain he didn't analyze, didn't question. He was a monster. He was beyond redemption. But Lisbon was still kissing him, and he loved…

He pushed the thought away, so far down he didn't have to look at it.

He ripped the scrap of fabric that dared to separate him from complete submersion and felt her jerk in his arms. He wrenched his lips away from hers and tightened his embrace, nuzzling her neck, waiting in anxious dread. Giving her time to pull back, walk away from him. Protecting herself from being tainted, stopping his drowning blackness from invading her passionate, burning red. He could see nothing but this red, her essence burning like a flame against his body, searing the smiling face from his retinas. Her essence so much redder than his pain.

The metal of his belt buckle clicked softly. And Patrick Jane submerged, the waves crashing over his head when he felt her hands against him, his whole self dissolving into a single, nerve-wracking shudder. Tension surged through his frame when hot skin touched hot skin, he was so hard his whole body was a mass of agony. He welcomed every lick of pain. Added it to the tapestry of his torture, while the sweetness of her touch coated his skin with liquid fire.

Her wet flesh gave him no resistance, but the intensity of the sensation rocked his world. He slid into her, deeper, deeper, heard her gasp into his ear, her body growing rigid in his tight embrace, her hips pressing closer, searching out the source of the blaze. He suffered through a moment of self-consciousness, but she held on to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, the soft pain keeping him with her. When he met the deepest recess of her core he groaned deep in his throat, her soft, tiny body filling his world. So, so deep. The flame engulfing him, lapping at his skin. Everywhere.

He started to move, and the sensation multiplied until he wanted to scream. Nothing but a pained wail escaped his throat, but her lips caught him, bathing his frayed nerves in her taste. She licked his lips until they were wet, and he reveled in all the wetness, adding to it with his own tongue.

His thrusts were fast and hard, his flesh slapping against hers while his kiss was so soft and gentle, thorough and careful. He kissed her until her head fell back on a groan, her arms stretching out behind her to keep her balance. Jane's lips fastened on her throat, needing the contact to ban the thoughts that would kill him if he allowed them to invade. He wouldn't. Would protect the shield that engulfed them, made them drunk with hope.

Her legs tightened around his waist, and he groaned.

She swallowed every sound when she came, but he felt her muscles contract all around him, felt the detonation in every cell of his body, searing him in a cloud of steam and burnt skin. Her shudders were heavy and violent, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her through it, not stopping his movements until his body became rigid with his own release. He felt his seed gush out of him in pulsating waves, again, again. The salt of his tears ran over his lips. She licked it off, her tongue soothing the sharp burn, preserving his sanity by a thread.

His mind screamed at him to fix this, make amends, slip the mask back in place. Manage a shaky smile, get them back to normal.

But he couldn't, couldn't to save his life, so he cried quietly in her arms, cried for all the lives lost, for his own damaged soul, for everything that pushed him deeper and deeper into the darkness. She held him. Held him through the tears and the shudders, his flesh still pulsating inside her.

He calmed his breath forcefully and pulled back, straightening his clothes with trembling hands, fighting for a smile that wouldn't come, wouldn't come when it always came, his one weapon that would take the meaning out of this. Grant him distance. Give him back his composure. Let him find shallow words to get her out of his mind, out of his system where she hurt him so much, hurt him with all the feelings she evoked in him, feelings he wasn't allowed to have. He couldn't smile. Damn him.

He didn't know what to do. His hands were useless, he didn't know where to put them. He couldn't look at her, but he felt her searching his gaze. Eight years he'd wandered hell, he had nothing left. Nothing but her. She tortured him with her goodness, her beauty, her selflessness and this damn, agonizing touch that made him lose his mind, made him rage and froth like a lunatic, made him long until he felt himself coming undone, ripping open at the seams. He shivered.

He needed her so much, he could feel the darkness reach for him. He looked at her. Drowning in the sea so green and deep, huge orbs of forest-quiet, swallowing his guilt until he almost couldn't taste it any longer.

"How long can you stay?" he said, his voice so small she almost couldn't hear him.

She averted her gaze, and he felt bereft, frantically needing to get it back, so much that he almost gasped in relief when her eyes returned to his.

"Until hell freezes over." She whispered.

And when she pulled him back into her arms, he dropped all defenses.

Weeeeelllll…honestly, I don't know how to justify this. Just believe me that I WANTED to keep this strictly in the T-area, but the story just didn't want to go there. I have seen moments of emotional overload on the show that just didn't allow me to write an M-scene. But somehow- this wasn't one of them. This just wrote itself. Sorry.