A/N: This is it, last chapter. Thank you so so much to everyone who favorited/ followed/ reviewed. This community is so *nice.* Truly, the support is so encouraging.


Lisbon tossed and turned. She couldn't sleep. Hadn't slept, really, for the past three days.

There was no reason for it. They'd closed the case. Cho had secured a confession from the nanny in under twenty minutes, with Jane's help. Justice had been served, and all was right with the world. Temporarily, at least. There was nothing for her to be losing sleep over.

The thing was, she'd gotten used to having Jane's quiet breathing beside her as she slept, and now she was having trouble sleeping without it.

Damn him. This was all his fault. She'd slept fine before he'd come along with his mutterings about cinnamon sheets and insistence on cuddling. And now she missed his possessive way of wrapping his arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair as they fell asleep together.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew what this meant. It meant that warm belly full of honey feeling wasn't, as she'd hoped, a one off. This, in turn, meant she *was* an idiot, because she'd been stupid enough to fall for Patrick Jane. She was in love with the charlatan.

Okay, acceptance was the first step to recovery. She could beat this thing. She could. She may have been dumb enough to fall in love with him, but it wasn't like she wanted a relationship with the jackass. She wasn't actually insane.

She tried to imagine what it would even mean to be in a relationship with Jane. It would mean never again having a peaceful moment to herself, completely free of tricks and schemes. He'd invade even more of her life than he already had. She'd have to deal with office gossip, CBI regulations, deeply uncomfortable conversations with her boss, and the challenge of maintaining her authority over her team with them constantly wondering if her judgment had been compromised by her relationship with Jane. Hell, she'd have to deal with *her* constantly wondering if her judgment had been compromised by her relationship with Jane. He'd quite simply drive her crazy before one week was out.

She ruthlessly shoved thoughts of bear claws and the feeling of him nuzzling into her neck out of her mind and focused on the fact that he had a monomaniacal obsession with a deranged killer that consumed all his time and energy. Not much room for a relationship when you were on a singleminded mission for revenge. 'What's that, honey? You want me to go to your brother's wedding with you? Sorry, no can do. I have to spend the weekend holed up in an attic desperately trying to exact vengeance for the murders of my wife and child.'

Right, she'd almost forgotten the fact that he was still in love with his wife. The devil was in the details, as Jane liked to say.

As she saw it, she had two options. One, she could tell Jane how she felt and wait for him to panic and run for the hills. Of course, that would mean she wouldn't have him breaking into her apartment all hours of the night to crawl into bed with her. But that was fine. She was sure she'd get used to sleeping alone again. Or not.

Sleep was for the weak, anyway.

Her second option was to ignore the existence of any non-platonic feelings she may have developed for her consultant and continue to get at least a few nights a week of blessedly uninterrupted sleep for as long as he decided to continue inviting himself into her bed.

Personally, she was leaning towards option two.

She sighed. This mental debate was all well and good, but it wasn't doing a damn thing to help her go to sleep. Resigned, she dragged herself out of bed and headed downstairs to see if Jane had left any of that herbal tea he insisted was supposed to relax the mind and body.

She turned on the living room light when she reached the foot of the stairs and nearly screeched in shock when she saw Jane sitting on her couch, looking exhausted. He looked up when he saw her. "Hey, Lisbon."

"Jesus, Jane," she said, her hand over her heart. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry." He took in the sight of her in her favorite jersey. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head. "No. You?"

He gestured. "As you see."

She hesitated. Hadn't they worked out a system that could resolve this problem for both of them in circumstances such as these? "What are you doing down here? Why didn't you just come upstairs?"

"The thing is," he said slowly. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

Lisbon felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It looked like she was going to be stuck with option number one, after all. "Okay." But then—"I don't understand. Why did you come over, if you don't want to come upstairs?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to come upstairs. Just that I didn't think it was a good idea."

Lisbon was starting to feel annoyed. "How long have you been down here, anyway? Were you just going to lurk down here in the dark all night? Because that's just—" She didn't know what it was, though, except completely aggravating, bordering on infuriating. She'd been lying upstairs for hours trying to sleep, and now it looked like he'd been brooding on her couch the whole time. He could brood from her bed just as easily as he could from her couch, couldn't he? It was like he had the solution to her problem– himself, in her bed—and he was deliberately keeping it from her. "What is the problem, Jane? I thought we had…an arrangement."

He looked down. "Yeah. The thing is, I'm not so sure that arrangement is working out so great for me."

"Fine," Lisbon snapped, ignoring the part of her that felt his words like a crushing blow and focusing on the anger instead. "Nobody is holding a gun to your head. If you want to leave, leave. But you can't have it both ways. You can either stick to the arrangement, or you can get the hell out. None of this creeping around my apartment in the dark like a damn psychopath. That's just… too much to ask, Jane."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to creep. Honestly, I have only been here a few minutes. I was going to come upstairs in a moment. I was just trying to collect my thoughts before disturbing you."

"That's never stopped you before," she pointed out.

He smiled wryly. "Too true. Which, in a way, is what I want to talk to you about."

"Talk to me about what?"

He stood up and stepped closer to her. "There's something you should know about me," he said gravely. Lisbon's heart stopped. Oh, God, what could he possibly confess to her that could be worse than what she already knew about him?

He paused. "I'm a very selfish person," he said seriously.

Lisbon nearly collapsed with relief. "That's it?" she said, laughing out loud despite her frustration. "Is that supposed to be news to me?"

He glared at her. "I'm trying to tell you something here, Lisbon."

"Sorry." She schooled her features into a concerned frown. "Go on."

"I didn't plan to come here tonight. Even after I got here, I had second thoughts. I told myself I should leave. But I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"What are you saying?"

"By all accounts, you'd be better off without me. If I were remotely capable of acting in anything other than my own self interest, I'd stay as far away from you as possible. But obviously I'm not, or I wouldn't be here. You see, I have a problem."

Was he going to talk in circles all night? "Can you be a little more specific?"

He looked at her. "Anyway, the problem is… well, it's like cinnamon candles."

Lisbon gestured impatiently. "What about them?"

"I thought—I've been coming over here way too much. For my own purposes, without any regard for what's best for you. It's not fair to you. So I went to the store after we closed the case. I bought two dozen cinnamon candles, Lisbon. Two dozen. But it wasn't enough. I still couldn't sleep."

Lisbon shook her head. "I thought you said before—the first time…I thought you already knew candles wouldn't help you sleep."

He sighed, as though she were being deliberately obtuse. "That's not the point."

"What *is* the point, Jane? Cause you're not making a whole lot of sense, here."

"The point is, cinnamon candles are a poor imitation of the real thing, Lisbon."

"Jane, I will let you sleep with a bottle of my shampoo, if you think it will help, but I still don't see—"

"What we're doing," he interrupted her. "You letting me break in from time to time to sleep beside you. Our arrangement, as you put it. It's like the cinnamon candles. It's tempting to think it's a reasonable substitute for the real thing, but it's not enough."

God, Lisbon was so tired. Why couldn't he just make sense? Or at the very least, stop talking about candles and come upstairs so she could finally get some sleep? "I don't have any candles upstairs, Jane."

"I don't want candles, Lisbon."

Belatedly, some of what he was saying finally started to sink in. "And you don't want the arrangement, either," she realized, feeling like a prize idiot.

"I just don't think it's very healthy. For either of us."

"Oh, suddenly you're the poster boy for healthy behavior?" Lisbon said sarcastically. It was a mean thing to say, but if Jane left, she was facing the prospect of never sleeping again. Forgive her for being a little testy.

He smiled wryly. "I think it's clear that I'm not. But for the first time in a very long time, I'm feeling motivated to try. In this one area of my life."

Lisbon was sick of this conversation. "Fine. Whatever. I get it. Arrangement's over. You can let yourself out. I'm going back to bed."

He caught her hand as she turned away. "Lisbon, wait. We need to talk about this."

"It's three o clock in the morning. Can't we do this some other time?" Like when she wasn't so exhausted she couldn't even try to hide from the boy wonder how crushed she was?

"I think it would be better if we did it now."

Lisbon was convinced that if she killed him right now, any jury in the world would rule it a justifiable homicide. Only Patrick Jane would insist on having a Dear John conversation at three in the morning after breaking into a woman's apartment. She really was bad at relationships. They weren't even together and she was being subjected to a breakup talk. She sighed. "Have it your way, Jane. You always seem to, in any case," she muttered.

Jane looked at her. "You're upset."

"Oh, very astute, Jane," she said snidely. "You should take that show on the road."

He watched her face. "You're not just cranky from lack of sleep. You're upset with me."

"Don't do that," Lisbon said sharply. "You can analyze my facial expressions or you can have your precious 3am chat, but you can't have both. Pick one."

He hesitated. "Very well. I pick the 3am chat."

Of course he did. Bastard probably figured he could keep analyzing her and just not provide his usual running commentary. Lisbon gestured at him to get on with it. "Chat away."

"Right. Where was I?"

"Cinnamon candles," Lisbon spat out.

He nodded. "Yes. As I was saying, cinnamon candles are no longer adequate to my needs. I want more."

"Fine. Nobody's stopping you," Lisbon snarled.

He looked at her curiously. "Really?"

"Yes. You want more. Well—go for it."

He regarded her with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. "You sure about that?"

"Yes!" Lisbon said, goaded beyond endurance.

Jane shrugged. "All right."

And then he stepped forward and kissed her.

Warm honey. He tasted like warm honey. And tea. Earl Grey and warm honey. It was a surprisingly light, sweet taste. Rich, though. The honey feeling, too, was welling up and threatening to spill out of her, so she did the only reasonable thing she could think of and kissed him back, to give Jane some of that feeling back.

Then he let her go.

Lisbon stood there, dazed, and then opened her eyes slowly, trying to figure out what had just happened. He was standing close to her and smiling down at her. She blinked up at him.

"I'm confused," she confessed, once she was capable of speech again.

Jane stroked her hair. "What are you confused about? I told you I want more."

"Maybe I should have asked this before, but… what do you mean, you want more?"

"Paris," he said. "I want Paris."

Lisbon stared at him. Had she died and gone to crazyville? Or was Jane seriously talking about actually taking a vacation? Like a normal person? "You're really going to Paris?" she said in disbelief. What the hell did that have to do with cinnamon candles?

He patted his breast pocket. "I've got the tickets right here."

"Oh," she said, too stunned to develop a coherent response. "Well, good for you. The time off will do you good." He was going to Paris. Then what was that, a good-bye kiss?

He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Take a look."

Lisbon turned the envelope over in her hands, not wanting to open it and be faced with the reality that Jane was actually leaving. She felt sick at the thought. What if it was one way?

That would be a good thing, she told herself sternly. It would mean Jane was actually taking her advice and getting a life. She tried to ignore the feeling that her heart had suddenly gone hollow. He'd kissed her good-bye, and now he was leaving the cinnamon candles behind. He was going to look for something better. But that was fine. He could go find someone who smelled like peaches and cream to share insomniac tendencies with. She'd manage without him.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "Open it."

Reluctantly, she opened the envelope. She glanced at its contents and then looked up sharply. "There are two tickets here."

"Yes," Jane confirmed.

"One of them has my name on it."


"You bought me a ticket to Paris?" she said in disbelief.

"I did indeed."

"Jane, these are for one week from now!"

"There's no time like the present, Lisbon. Paris is lovely this time of year."

"I don't speak French."

"You don't need to speak French to look at the Eiffel Tower and walk down the Champs Elysees."

"I can't go to Paris with you! We have to work."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Wainwright will let you take some time off. Do know how much vacation time you have saved up?"

Lisbon had no idea. Jane must have read this on her face, because he didn't wait for her to respond before answering his own question. "You haven't taken a day off in three years, Lisbon. You have forty-three days of vacation accrued. I think you can spare a few of them to go to Paris with me."

"How do you know how much vacation I have?" Lisbon demanded.

He shrugged. "I went down to the human resources department and asked them."

"And they told you, just like that?"

"Matilda was very accommodating once I told her I wanted to surprise you with a romantic trip to Paris."

A romantic trip? "But—" Lisbon spluttered. "What about the candles?"

"I'm sure they have candles in France, if you want them, Lisbon."

She shook her head. "No. I mean—the cinnamon candles. You said you didn't want them."

"That's right. Why would I want the cheap imitation if I have a chance at the real thing?"

She bristled. "Now I'm a cheap imitation?"

"Of course not. Why would you even ask that?"

"You said being with me was like cinnamon candles."

He blinked. "No, I didn't. I said *not* being with you was like cinnamon candles. Or rather, that being only half with you was like cinnamon candles."

"You kept yammering on about how sleeping with me was like cinnamon candles and that you didn't want candles in your life anymore. What was I supposed to think?"

He considered this. "So you're saying the reference to the cinnamon candles was a poorly constructed metaphor?"

"It wasn't the best."

"You aren't like cinnamon candles, Lisbon. There is nothing about you that is a pale imitation of anything. You are the real thing. The purest, high quality cinnamon. Being with you is like… hot apple cider on a cold winter day."

"Apple cider?"

"Gingerbread at Christmas time. Snickerdoodles fresh out of the oven. A cinnamon latte on a brisk fall day."

"Okay, if you think you're going to call me 'snickerdoodle' as some kind of nickname, so help me—"

"Lisbon," he interrupted her. "Will you go to Paris with me?"

"I…" Lisbon stared at him, at a loss. Was he really serious about this? The plane ticket in her hand gave some weight to the question, but she'd witnessed far more complicated tricks from Jane after she'd known him a week.

He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his. "Please?"

Her eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The last time I was here with you."

"That was three days ago."

"What about it?"

"I don't think you're thinking very clearly."

"What makes you say that?"

"You said you meant to stay away from me, yet you break in here in the dead of night with tickets to Paris in your pocket. And you kissed me." She shook her head.

"That seems clear to me. I tried to stay away from you for fear of putting you in danger, but I grew selfishly attached to the idea of wanting to sleep with you by my side. Sleeping with you in my arms made me realize I want to be closer to you. I resisted the urge at first because I feared if Red John found out you were close to me, he would come after you. Then I realized unless I was willing to remove myself from your presence entirely, there was nothing I could do about that." He exhaled. "I wasn't willing to do that, so I might as well do the best I can to protect you by sticking to you like glue. So I decided to buy you a ticket to Paris as the first step in my plan to convince you to sleep beside me every night, instead of only a few nights a week."

"So you lurking down here in the dark was you having a last minute panic attack about Red John coming after me if you tried to get closer to me?"

"I suppose one could put it that way, yes."

She paused. "You really want to sleep next to me every night?"


"Oh, thank God." And she launched herself at him, kissing him for all she was worth.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting on Jane's lap on the couch, the two of them making out with the enthusiasm of sixteen year olds.

His hands had snaked under her jersey and were resting on her hips as their tongues dueled. His vest was unbuttoned, though she hadn't made much progress on his shirt. Apparently Jane was high maintenance even when it came to getting him undressed.

When they came up for air, Lisbon was pleased to note that the master of biorhythms was breathing rather heavily. "So is that a yes?" Jane said, panting slightly.

"To what? Paris, or the sleeping with you every night thing?"

"All of the above."


Sensing her hesitation, he tightened his grip on her hips. "I'll stop kissing you if you don't say yes," he threatened. Obviously he'd noticed she was a fan of the kissing and wasn't going to want to give it up.

She looked into his eyes and grinned. "Liar." It was obvious to her he wasn't going to want to give it up, either.

He scowled, looking for all the world like a petulant five year old. "Yes or no?"

She considered this. He was going to take over her life even more completely than he had already and make it infinitely more complicated.

On the other hand, she had always wanted to go to Paris. And while it was true Jane made her life more complicated, he also made it so much more *interesting.* Despite the headaches he caused her at work, he made going to work fun. Plus, she was in desperate need of sleep, and since she'd apparently become addicted to having Jane in her bed while she slept, she hardly had a choice, did she?

"Lisbon?" he prompted.

She smiled at him. "Yes."

"Really?" Jane said, sounding surprised.

"You didn't think I'd agree?" Lisbon said, laughing.

"No, I thought you'd agree. I just thought it would take a lot more arguing before I would be able to convince you."

"You thought I was going to turn down a free trip to Paris?"

"I had the perfect plan to trick you into getting on the plane," he confessed. He shook his head. "It's almost a shame to waste it."

"Mm-hm." Lisbon leaned in and kissed him again, not interested in Jane's schemes at the moment.

"It involved one of those airport kiosks, you know, the ones that sell neck pillows and the Rosetta Stone in thirty-five languages—mm, that feels nice—and one of those dogs that sniffs for drugs."


"Hm?" he said, his mouth busy planning hot kisses against her neck.

"Stop talking," she ordered.

For once, he obeyed.

Some considerable time later, they went up the stairs, hand in hand, and slept.