AN: Lisbon's point of view for this one. Also, I need to stop promising second chapters of things. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys make/made my day!

Comforts and Constancy

Chapter Two

Sleep was a long time coming.

It shouldn't have been. She was exhausted, right down to the marrow of her bones. She was fed, she was clean. She was also warm, Jane wrapped around her, the scent of his cologne relaxing her further. This was precisely where she had wanted to be for days.

But her mind was replaying the moment that afternoon when she had been a witness to an execution. It was in that moment that she knew she had failed, knew that this operation had taken a turn neither she nor Jane had accounted for. There was no backing out now, and perhaps there never had been.

They had underestimated Cole and his gang, all of them had.

She had been given the opportunity to break away from the group several times, and had promptly turned all of them down. Why? Because she was cop. Catching the bad guy was what she did, what she was made for. She could no more walk away from this than she could change her DNA.

Besides, there was no reason to think this wouldn't all work out just fine, at least, there hadn't been at the time.

And then, in one swift instant, she had been filled with dread and guilt.

Jane snuggled closer, fingers flexing on her hip, and she remembered his look of love and resignation as he had faced her in that field.

It had meant everything to her, that he had shown up unarmed and alone and had literally run into the middle of a group of criminals to try and save her life. This was Patrick Jane - he hated this part of the job, choosing instead to hide behind someone (usually her) until the shots were all fired.

Not now.

In what could have very well been his last act, he had shown her again how much he loved her.

Looking back, she knew he had done the same thing before. Worried about her, Jane had shown up at her side in the past, afraid, obviously, but unwilling to let her be alone.

She wished now she would have recognized the gestures for what they meant. Then again, even if she had, there was every chance Jane wouldn't.

Tonight, he had tried very hard to make her feel better about what had happened. He had even succeeded a bit. But this was something she was always going to remember.

Jane moved again, his head now on her chest. She was coming to learn that he sometimes slept this way if something had upset him during the day, unconsciously reaching for comfort.

She was happy to offer it. Quietly thrilled, in fact.

He was at war with himself, she knew that, unnecessarily throwing all the blame for the botched operation at his own feet. From years of experience, she also knew Jane would always blame himself when something bad happened to those he loved.

In the end, in those final seconds, when she had been convinced that this was the end of the line, she'd had to look away from his eyes. She swore she could see his very soul there, and she did not want to see when it left. Selfishly, she had been unwilling to watch the love her of her life be executed.

And then, shaking with relief, she'd had to step away when he came across to her. He wanted to hug her. His arms were already half-raised. And she wanted nothing more than to cling to him, her need bubbling to the surface. She had missed him so much, had thought briefly that she wasn't even going to get to touch him again before she died.

But being strong was how she had coped with all of the crises in her life before now. When her mother died. When her father died. When Jane walked out of her life. When the foundations her world in California had been built on violently shook and crumbled. When she'd tried to leave Texas.

That was how she dealt with it, the stress, the emotional backlash. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin and stood tall. She didn't know how to have a breakdown, let alone a breakdown in the arms of someone who loved her and who would hold her until she felt better.

Later, she had given into some of her baser urges, pulling Jane into the shower, needing to feel him inside of her, all around her. A mere three and a half weeks into their relationship and she was already consumed by him. Of course, that was nothing new - she'd been engulfed in the fire that was Patrick Jane for over a decade now.

She kissed his hair, watching his sleeping face.

"I love you," she whispered.

He remained silent, obviously, but she swore his lips twitched.

God, she just didn't want to be without this ever again. And that was scary.

It had been almost as scary talking about things with Marie as they had laid in that darkened prison cell. She had no girl friends, no mother or sisters to speak to. It had been the first time she'd ever discussed her relationship with Jane, how good it felt to not hide, or her fears that he would leave again.

He had never promised her anything, had even admitted that he had no plan. He had just shown up on that plane, tears in his eyes, and told her he loved her and that he was terrified.

For almost the first time, he wasn't hiding anything. She saw through the glamour, through the showman's mask to the man underneath. Jane was profoundly damaged and afraid. She had never seen it more clearly.

When he pulled her into his arms later that day, he had been trembling, and she had been shaken to her core.

She smiled a different sort of smile, remembering the rest of their first day. It had probably been too fast, their emotions too near the surface, but it felt right. It felt better than right, actually - it had been indescribable.

After, snuggled against his bare chest, she realized she was currently living out any number of her long-standing fantasies.

How about that, had been her last conscious thought.

And now they were here.

Jane had been very, very afraid today. So had she, but she was just so unused to seeing him look vulnerable. Being able to be openly in love had changed him, had cracked some of the armor he'd been wrapped in for thirteen years. This new version of Jane was fascinating.

"You're thinking very loudly," came a sleepy murmur from somewhere near her heart.

Smiling, she ran her fingers through his hair. "I have a lot on my mind, I guess. Sorry if I woke you."

"You should be sleeping," he admonished, raising his head to look at her. Even bleary-eyed, he took in more than most average people did when wide awake.

He shifted. "Come here," he said softly, opening his arms.

She went, gratefully pressing against his warmth. Despite the darkness of her thoughts, she grinned again. "You are so much more comfortable than a prison-issue pillow. You smell better, too."

He chuckled. "I smell better than a prison pillow? Please, Teresa, you're making me blush with your effusive praise."

She nuzzled into his neck, planting a small kiss. "You're so warm, too. I guess I've gotten used to that, too. I was freezing the past two nights." Her voice grew a little wistful. "I kept trying to reach for you without thinking."

His own tone was wry. "I didn't do any of that," he told her. "I just couldn't ever forget, even for a second, that you were locked inside a building full of convicts with no protection."

Things were getting heavy again.

"But we've agreed - never again."

He shook his head. "Never. I'm too inherently selfish to let you do that."

She kissed him lightly. His eyes still looked heavy.

"Go to sleep," she told him, pushing his hair off his forehead.

He rolled his eyes. "That's much easier to do when the other person in this bed is sleeping, too."

"I'll be very quiet, I promise," she teased.

"I'll still know," he told her, amusement in his voice. "Just like I know you're ticklish."

"I am not," she protested, but Jane's silence was...thoughtful. And dangerous.

In the second before he spoke again, she felt a shiver chase down her spine. "We'll see," was all he whispered before abruptly flipping her to her back.

Some time later, chest still heaving, goosebumps on her bare skin, every nerve ending having been summarily set on fire, she turned to him with flushed cheeks, unable to speak. She had no idea where her clothes were, nor did she care.

Jane looked smug as he pulled the sheet up to her shoulders.

"Told you so."

She had to admit - this was one time she was very pleased he was always right.

AN: So I really, really am not a fan of this chapter. Sorry! I had about an hour to write, and this is all I came up with! I promise to do better next time!