Hi all! This is my first Mentalist fic, but most of you know me over in the NCIS section for My Girl. I'm loving the Mentalist, but being in the UK means I'm not blessed with anything passed episode ten of season 2. As usual, I own nothing but my imagination, which in turn owns nothing other than a twisted mind. Let me know what you think of this one, I've got some Jisbon stories planned and also a series of one-shots involving Jane and his daughter if anyone would be interested in those :)

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

Camping on Jane's couch for the night had been the plan, and to start with it had seemed like a good plan. Their case today had been pretty open and shut, which they were glad of considering they had been awoken early on a Sunday morning. They'd all turned up at the CBI headquarters expecting not to be home at a decent hour for several days – when there was a child involved in the case, it always took time – but instead, Sunday evening, they'd all been sent home and the case was closed.

With one addition in tow.

The case had involved a four-year-old girl named Stephanie. Her father had beat her mother to death, leaving the little girl witness to it all as she watched from a gap in the closet door. She'd not mentioned a word at first, until lunchtime she hadn't spoken a word, so all they knew was that they had a dead woman and her daughter, a decided mute. Stephanie had become quite attached to the team, Jane in particular. Lisbon had been concerned at first, knowing that his daughter had been of similar age when Red John cruelly stole her from him, but Jane hadn't shied away from the little girl at all. In fact, he'd been the one who managed to get her to start speaking – first to tell them what she'd like for lunch, then what the name of her stuffed rabbit was, and finally, what she had seen from the closet. They'd found her father within the hour and arrested him, however as it was late on Sunday afternoon no one from Child Services would be coming until the morning. Jane had managed to convince Minelli to let Stephanie stay with him, because she had bonded to him most, and he promised to return her safe and sound first thing in the morning.

So why was Lisbon at his apartment? Why had she sat up at the kitchen table and eaten dinner with them both? Why had she allowed Jane to cook for her, pour her a glass of wine, wait on her hand and foot? Why had she declined the offer of him paying for a cab home (she'd driven home with him) and instead opted to stay and watch the latest Disney movie with Stephanie on Jane's couch?

She couldn't answer any of these, but she was perfectly happy not to answer them, to bury the questions and not have to answer them – why should she need to have a reason for having dinner with a friend and a child who had become attached to the two of them? Why should she need a reason for sitting on Jane's couch, with a four-year-old between them, nodding her head along to the catchy singing in the movie?

Because you're enjoying it, a voice told her, and you shouldn't be.

And the reason she shouldn't be enjoying it soon interrupted them. At eight-thirty her cell phone started ringing. The credits of the movie were just rolling up, and Stephanie was starting to look a little drowsy, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm. She jerked her head off of Lisbon's arm as the shrill ring caused Lisbon to lean forwards away from her, and she leaned in the opposite direction so that she was now laid against Jane, her legs already sprawled across his lap.

"Lisbon," she answered, as she pressed the phone to her ear. "...oh, Jackson. Hi."

Jane stiffened on the couch, so much so that Stephanie had to readjust herself against his arm. He looked at the television quickly before the temptation to take the cell phone from Lisbon's hand and throw it into the alley outside the apartment overtook him. He wasn't sure why he had this surge of emotion whenever this Jackson called Lisbon. He knew she was seeing him, and had been for some time now – four months, if he had to guess (he didn't, but he'd noticed the subtle changes in her happiness level when this new man appeared in her life). But for some unknown reason, he had a hatred for the man. He'd once come to the office to meet Lisbon (against her wishes, she'd wanted him to wait for her downstairs) for lunch, and Jane had introduced himself to Mr Jackson Daudey, a business man who she had met a few times during her teenage years. Lisbon had been more annoyed at Jane for speaking to Jackson than she had been at the man in question venturing up to meet her co-workers in the first place. When she'd returned from lunch, she'd called Jane up on his behaviour towards Jackson, telling him that he didn't need to be the protective big brother (he wished that was his reasoning, but it wasn't), and he'd justified it by claiming that there was something untrustworthy about Jackson. This wasn't a complete lie – Jane had detected a smug secrecy about the man, he was definitely hiding something, yet for once he couldn't tell what, he was a surprisingly, and annoyingly, hard man to read.

But Lisbon had eventually gotten used to the scowl that would hide behind Jane's eyes when she spoke Jackson's name. At first, she had ignored it, then she would roll her eyes, but tonight she didn't. Tonight she noticed it properly, noticed more how he tried to hide it by staring at the television. Tonight, she noticed that something about Jackson's presence in her life struck a chord with him. She knew that he was making a real effort to be happy that she was having a more active social life, and that she was finding someone worth making an effort of her own to get dressed up and go out after she'd had a long, hard day at work. The fact that he had to make an effort, and that he couldn't genuinely be happy for her somewhat annoyed her, but she was now wondering whether this was something deeper than not wanting her to get hurt.

When she hung up the phone, he gave her the illusion that he hadn't been listening to her conversation. "Everything ok?" he asked, still inwardly looking for a reason to have an encounter with this Jackson that left Jane with an evening of memory loss and Jackson in the hospital.

The innocence in his tone was misleading, she knew he'd heard everything. "He asked if I wanted to go dancing tonight," she stated simply.

"Do you?" he asked.

She glanced at her watch. "No, it's late."

"You've had later nights before," he rightly pointed out.

"True," she nodded. "But I've had a relaxing evening, and considering how warm my arm was when Stephanie moved a minute ago, I think she might be running a fever. I can't go."

"Lisbon..." he started, and she looked round at him. He was about to tell her that she was making the right choice by staying here, here where the man next to her didn't have a hidden agenda, here where she should keep an eye on their temporary wards fever, but then he saw the look in her eye. Lisbon was actually falling for this Jackson. He knew you didn't look at somebody like that unless you were really falling in love with them.

Love.

The word punched him in the stomach when he thought about it existing between Lisbon and Jackson. But still, she was falling, and she deserved to be with someone who made her happy. She deserved someone who would bring her flowers, chocolates, jewellery...someone who would wine and dine her and make her feel like a high school girl all over again. She deserved someone who wouldn't ruin what ever connection they had by murdering the serial killer who had taken away his family.

"Go," he said softly.

Lisbon looked a little stunned – Jane was actually encouraging her to go out with Jackson. Usually he would make some childish display to convince her that he really wasn't allowed to be left unattended, but now he was telling her to go. "Jane..."

"Don't put your night on hold," he told her. "Stephanie's fever is probably just shock, and she should sleep soon anyway. Go out, enjoy the rest of your evening."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What makes you believe that I'm not already enjoying myself?" she tested him.

"You are, because you never lost your love of Disney movies. You like the innocence in them, but identify with the princess's difficulties," he analysed (correctly, but she wouldn't admit that). "But, you also love dancing."

"Yes, I do," she would admit that one. He'd seen her dance before. Granted, she didn't know he had – she'd been swaying and humming softly in her office late one night, and she'd assumed he'd been spying discreetly from the kitchen area as he prepared another cup of tea – but he could tell from the gentle, yet sincere smile on her face that she had good memories associated with dancing. He'd stood, stirring his tea for several minutes too long until she had gone back to her desk, captivated by that shine of happiness that she hadn't revealed to anyone else before.

"So, what are you waiting for?" he asked. "Go dancing." She smiled at his encouragement, but still looked hesitant. "If you don't go, I'll drive you down there myself and we both know how much he'd love to see me," he threatened her.

At this, she half-laughed. "Ok, I'm going."

At almost midnight, Stephanie had only been sleeping for an hour. Jane had sat up with her for a long time, trying to assure her that she was perfectly safe, that her violent father couldn't possibly get her, and that he would protect her, but the fever that had crept up on her throughout the evening had only heightened her anxiety. After a few made-up fairy tales, she had settled, but Jane was continuously checking on her every ten minutes, slowly creeping to her side and checking her forehead, ready to take her to the hospital the second he thought it was too high. He remembered a late night dash with his own daughter when she was three, and he didn't want a repeat of it. However, Stephanie's temperature seemed to stay steady, and he wasn't crucially worried about it.

He checked her one more time before getting ready to settle on the couch for a short doze. She was sprawled over the blanket of his bed, half the sheet gathered on the floor beside her. He'd found this amusing, how she had stayed so tightly curled around herself all day, but now her defences were down she was taking up as much space as possible. He lifted the blankets back onto her, checking her fever once more, and then he headed towards the couch. As soon as he had settled down and laid his head back, however, a noise in the hall outside his front door alerted him.

His head lifted from the arm of the couch, listening closely. He recognised the sound as a shuffling of feet, whoever was there was hesitating, but eventually there was a gentle, unsure knock. He frowned, pulling the hall door ajar so that any noise wouldn't disturb his tiny guest, but he didn't shut it completely in case she called for him. He went to the front door, pulling it open, and for the first time in many years, Patrick Jane was horrified by what he saw on the other side of the door.

"Lisbon?"

She stood there, a complete wreck of her usual self. She was so broken that it was impossible to remember her laughing on his couch a few hours ago. She wasn't crying, no, she'd never do that in front of him, but it was clear that she had been from her red eyes. Her make up was running down her cheeks with sheer abandon, her clothes ruined and clinging to her from the torrential rainstorm raging outside. He didn't know if she'd even taken a jacket out with her, let alone where it was now. She was shuddering with the cold, though. She looked up at him when he spoke her name, and her expression scared him. It was one he'd never seen on her face before.

Betrayal. Pain. Heartbreak.

"Lisbon, what happened?" he asked her.

She just shook her head, looking away again. She didn't have to say it. Jackson.

He ignored everything she had ever told him about respecting her personal space, and he bought her into his arms without a second thought. Surprisingly, she didn't fight him, wrapping her arms around him in return. She didn't even make an excuse about getting his shirt went. He held her there, feeling the trembling of her body and realising that his was shaking too, more from rage and shock at seeing her in this state. She was strong, she was unbreakable. This didn't happen to her. A man couldn't possibly do this to her.

He pulled her gently into the apartment, closing the door behind her. "Wait here," he muttered, leaving her in the living room as he crept back into his own room, careful not to disturb the still-sleeping Stephanie, and returned a few moments later with a pair of his sweat pants and a warm sweater, a dry towel from the bathroom slung over his shoulder. He handed them too her. "Here, you're soaked through," he pointed out, and she just looked down at herself as if she hadn't even noticed this. "Put these dry clothes on and I'll put yours in the dryer."

Once again, he stepped out of the room kindly as she got changed. When he came back in, she was sitting on his couch, staring at the coffee table where their feet had been resting hours before. He strode over to her, taking the wet clothes and placing them on one side of him before kneeling in front of her.

"Lisbon..." she looked away. "Lisbon, did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, but he thought differently. He knew that this had something to do with Jackson. He knew that it would end badly. He knew that Jackson would hurt her.

"He must have done something," he pressed on.

"Please...don't ask me what happened..." she whispered, her first words since she entered the apartment.

"I have to," he told her. "If he's done something-"

"Patrick," she said sternly.

It was the use of his first name, not the tone of her voice that made him obey. It made it hard to believe that it was her sitting before him. This was Lisbon. Teresa Lisbon, Senior Agent of the Senior Crimes department at the California Bureau of Investivation. She wasn't going to tell him anything that she didn't want to, regardless of how much he could work out just from her body language and what she wasn't saying. He bowed his head for a second. "I'll get you some water," he said.

He went into the kitchen, where she was still visible through the doorway. As the water ran from the tap into the empty glass, he took some deep breaths. Something had happened when she was out with Jackson. It was either Jackson's fault, or Jackson was the one who had done it, because she wasn't with him now. She was in Jane's living room. He went back to her, handing her the glass of water. She drank half of it quickly before putting it down on the coffee table while Jane settled on the couch beside her, sitting sideways so that he was facing her.

"Please, Teresa, talk to me," he half-begged, but his voice was soft.

"There's nothing to say," she insisted.

"You can start with why you turned up on my doorstep, soaking wet, in the middle of the night," he prompted her.

She shook her head. "I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because I was so stupid," she revealed, looking away and starting to speak to herself. "I should have known better. I shouldn't have let my judgement get clouded by him, but..."

"Lisbon-"

She turned her attention back to him, shaking her head again. "Don't ask me again, Jane. I won't tell you."

He boldly took her hand in his own, glad when she didn't pull away. Her hand was freezing, how long had she been out in the rain? He bought her hands together, enveloping them in his own and rubbing them gently, trying to encourage the warmth to return to them. "Just tell me that he didn't hurt you," he asked her.

She shook her head again. "Not physically, no."

"Are you sure?" he checked. "Don't cover for him, you know I'll go find him right now and make him suffer if he even thought about laying a hand on you-"

"No, Jane, he didn't touch me," she told him quietly, watching his hands with amazement at how they tensed when his anger momentarily flared towards Jackson.

"Well, whatever he did, he'll pay for it," he told her. "I'm sure the others would be pleased to help. We could go right now and throw a brick through his window, perhaps? Rigsby would certainly have the arm strength for that, although his specialty is arson...is arson too much of a statement? I don't think it is, but I think Grace is too innocent to watch us all burn a man's house down. She's too good natured. She might change her mind with some convincing, but her conscience would win out eventually. Cho, on the other hand, he'd happily help burn a man who hurt you. It might be best to leave Grace behind. Us men can go throw a brick through the window. It can be a team building exercise."

His attempt at bringing a smile to her lips failed, however. "It doesn't matter," she told him.

"Yes, it does," he told her, all seriousness back in her voice. "It matters to me. It matters a lot."

At this, she leaned her head forward, letting it collide softly with his shoulder. He released her hands so that he could move his arms around her, and then he leaned them both against the back of the couch. He was partly glad that Jackson had pissed her off enough for her to fall into his arms like this, also glad that she felt she could let down her walls of physical comfort and allow him to hold her. It wasn't how he wanted to end up holding her, certainly not, but he didn't hold her any looser. She'd always tried her best to make him not quite so broken, so he would do the same for her.

"It's ok that I came here?" she checked.

"Of course," he told her. "Stay as long as you like."

"I didn't want to go home," she admitted. "Jackson and I had a ...a disagreement, and if I know him as well as I think I do, then he'll probably go to my apartment to try and talk to me."

"It sounds like a bit more than a disagreement," he said. "There's more to it than that."

"There is," she confirmed. "I'm just not going to tell you."

"Well, if you decide you want to tell me, I'm here," he told her. "Remember that."

She nodded against him. "I will."

They stayed there for a moment, just holding each other. He loved the feeling of her being in his arms, knowing that just by holding her he was helping her. He could feel her breath hitting the skin of his neck, his pulse beating against her temple. Surely she could feel it, and how fast it was beating? He'd not felt this comfortable in a long time, not since...well, it felt like being married again, the thrill of holding someone, no words needed, just bodily contact that didn't end in sex. He'd not had that comfort with anyone besides Violet before.

"Pat-pat..."

The whine from the doorway startled him, and they both looked up to see Stephanie standing there, clutching her stuffed rabbit in her hands. She was as pale as a sheet. Jane shot to her side. "What's wrong, Stephanie?" he asked her, his voice soft in comparison to his suddenly frantic movements, checking her forehead.

"Tummy hurts," she complained.

"Do you feel sick?" he asked her. She nodded with a whine, and he stood up, taking her by the hand. "Ok, come with me," he told her gently. He turned back to Lisbon, who was standing back watching them. "Lisbon, can you get us a glass of water?" he asked her.

"Of course," she whispered, going into the kitchen.

Jane, on the other hand, took Stephanie into the bathroom, sitting down on the tiled floor with her before the toilet bowl. She sat in his lap and he checked her fever yet again – it was definitely higher, must be a stomach bug. It would fade as soon as she'd emptied her stomach. As he bought his hand down, smoothing her hair backwards, Lisbon came in, setting the glass of water on the floor close to him. He thanked her, and Stephanie looked up at Lisbon.

"You came back," she said simply.

Lisbon nodded, sitting down on the floor beside them both, taking over threading her hair between her fingers as Jane started to rub her back instead. "Yes, I did. I missed you," she said softly.

Stephanie looked like she was about to say something else, but must have suddenly felt worse as she began to cry a little and squirmed uncomfortably on Jane's lap. "Want my mommy..." she started to sob.

"It's ok, sweetie," Jane soothed, his voice little more than a whispered breath into her ear.

They sat there for a while, Jane whispering into her ear, rubbing her back as Lisbon kept Stephanie's hair out of her face whilst she leaned over the toilet bowl. However, Lisbon never once took her eyes away from Jane's face. The tenderness that overtook him when he'd been around Stephanie today had a strange effect on her. She couldn't deny that she didn't feel the slightest bit attracted to Jane, because he was certainly an attractive man, but her main draw had always been to much physically stronger men – men who could intimidate her, overpower her, men who could fight her for control after she'd been exerting it all day.

Now, however, she was starting to doubt that. She looked at Jane, watching as he whispered gentle words into the little girls ear to prevent her feeling scared on top of unwell. Stephanie clung to him, almost painfully sometimes, but he let her, and he never asked her to loosen her grip. He allowed her to cry and let out her fear of being ill for the first time without her mother holding her. He must have been an amazing father, she realised. How lucky his daughter must have been.

Patrick Jane, a man who had been broken severely, but now he was putting his own heartache aside to put Stephanie's heart back together, if just for one night.

And it was then, when an exhausted Stephanie collapsed against Jane, weakly whimpering as he helped her to slowly sip the water beside them, that she realised the strongest men weren't always the ones who were physically powerful.

Monday saw the departure of Stephanie. Jane and Lisbon had both been rather sad to see her go, but Child Services had bought with them the assurance that the temporary foster family had a puppy, and upon hearing that Stephanie had been eager to go meet the fluffy bundle. Of course, she was too young to understand what a foster home was, but all she heard was 'puppy'. Jane had given her an origami frog, which he slipped into the pocket of her jacket, and he didn't notice the tiny smile that Lisbon gave in the corner, no doubt remembering the one she had received from him quiet a while ago.

Almost immediately after Stephanie had gone, they had been called out into the field. It had been a long day, too, which had ended up with Lisbon having to shoot their main suspect before he could, in turn, shoot Jane. Their culprit had died. Dead meant case closed. Case closed meant paperwork. Case closed and dead meant more paperwork. He settled himself down on his couch, rolling his neck to stretch out the aching muscles gathering at the top of his spine, constantly noticing the slam of a desk drawer coming from Lisbon's office every few minutes. She'd wanted to get that paperwork done as soon as possible, and he was in no rush to go home to an empty apartment – which would only seem emptier after having two extra guests the night before – so he settled on the couch and closed his eyes.

"You can leave, you know?" a voice told him some time later.

He smiled, keeping his eyes closed as Lisbon stood beside him. "Why would I leave, when my dearest Lisbon has made me a perfectly prepared cup of tea?" he teased.

Sure enough, he opened his eyes, and she had her coffee in one hand and was balancing a smaller cup on a saucer in her other hand. He sat up, taking the saucer she offered him. "This doesn't get you off the hook for getting our main suspect shot," she warned him, but she was still smiling.

He looked innocent. "I know. It's a 'thank you' tea," he nodded.

She smirked. Of course, he knew. "Yes, it is. Thank you."

"For getting you suspect shot?" he smiled hopefully.

"No," she told him with a raised eyebrow. "You know what for."

He nodded, raising the cup to her in a tiny toast of recognition and she did the same with her coffee mug. As she turned to go back to her office, the elevator pinged across the hall from Jane's couch. He watched the metal doors slide open, revealing behind it a tall man, taller than himself, hiding behind a battered bunch of flowers – bought at the side of the road, last bunch left, flower stores closed and in desperate plea to get flowers to help him in his quest which ultimately wouldn't work. The man noticed Lisbon heading back to his office and called out to her.

"Teresa!"

She froze before turning on the spot. "What are you doing here, Jackson?" she hissed at him as he stopped before her.

"We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk to you," she told him clearly, and while her voice was calm, Jane knew as he watched from his couch that it was taking all her self control not to throw her boiling coffee in his face.

Of course, he also wanted to make Jackson suffer. Lisbon had stayed in his bed with Stephanie last night while he stayed on the couch, but she still hadn't told him what had happened with Jackson. She insisted that it wasn't worth him worrying about, and that they should focus on Stephanie, who was then clinging to Lisbon because being unwell had only heightened her grief for her mother, but this had only made him worry more; so much that he hadn't gotten a second of sleep because he was contemplating what awful things had happened and how he could make Jackson pay for it. He stood from his couch, going over and standing by Lisbon, skilfully putting himself between the pair, but not so much that it seemed he was protecting Lisbon – she'd turn her anger on him if she thought he was doing that.

"I think you should leave," Jane suggested to Jackson calmly.

"This doesn't involve you," Jackson told him quickly.

"You heard her," he continued. "She doesn't want to speak to you. She also happens to be rather busy with paperwork, so it really would be in the best interests of all if you would leave."

Jackson actually smirked at Jane. "You really do hate me, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Jane smiled.

"Jane," Lisbon told him, warning him not to take this any further.

"He did ask," Jane defended. "It would have been rude not to answer his question."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and turned to Jackson. "Jackson, I am working," she told him, fighting hard to keep the disgust from her voice. "We'll talk later."

"No, we'll talk now," he argued.

She glared at him, the two staring each other down before Lisbon stepped to the side, showing him towards her office. "I'm busy. You have five minutes and then you're leaving and I never want to see you again." Jackson went to enter her office, and Jane automatically went to follow. She put her hand out, blocking his entrance. "Not you, stop right there!"

"But-"

"No," she told him, as if scolding a child. "I can handle this."

"Yeah, go back to your couch," Jackson chided him. "Let the grown ups talk, Nancy."

"It's Jane," he corrected. "Lisbon, I highly dislike this man. If the opportunity comes around for someone to hurt him, I would very like to be the one to deliver the punch."

"No," she told him. "That's my job."

And with that, she shut the door. Before closing the blinds, she glared a warning at Jane and pointed towards his couch. He went, obediently, knowing that he'd get his own talking-to if he were to be found eavesdropping, but he never took his eyes off the door.

Within four minutes, Lisbon had thrown the door open and all but tossed Jackson out of her space. Jane stood up and went over, immediately noticing the unshed tears in her eyes, dangerous tears that came from too much anger and no outlet. He growled internally and leaned on Cho's desk, closest to Lisbon's office.

"Teresa, wait-"

"No," she hissed, her voice shaking. "I'm done with this. Leave."

"We're good together, and you know it," he pleaded.

"The problem lies in the fact that you're good with other women as well," she spat at him, causing Jane to immediately realise what had happened last night. He wanted to go over and beat Jackson where he stood, but he didn't. Lisbon shook her head slowly. "You're pathetic. A poor excuse for a man. Now get out of my sight."

Jackson left without a fight, leaving Lisbon to take a deep breath to compose herself. When she opened eyes again she found Jane right before her. She allowed herself a single moment of weakness, resting her head against his shoulder. For a brief moment, he wrapped his arms around her but he understood when she pulled away quickly and went into her office, closing the door behind her.

He went over to his couch, scrawled a note on a piece of paper from Grace's desk and pulled something from his pocket. After slipping it underneath Lisbon's office door, he grabbed his jacket and left the office himself.

Lisbon looked up when she heard the sliding of paper in the corner of her office. She saw the new addition lying beside the door and noticed the retreating shadow until it was gone from sight and all she could hear was the ping of the elevator arriving. Jane had left. She got up and opened the slip of paper, a heavy weight dropping into her hand.

My dearest Lisbon,

If I stayed and tried to get you to talk, you'd end up throwing me out of your sight too. Don't deny it, we both know you would. Instead, I'm going home. You have in your hand a spare key to my apartment—

Opening her hand, she saw that was, in fact, what she was holding.

--if you decide you want to talk, let yourself in and we can talk. I have ice cream in the freezer if you want to act like a teenager and get fat because a guy was a jerk to you. Don't be alone unnecessarily when you have friends who care about you.

The note wasn't signed, but there was no doubt who it was from. She looked from the key in her hand to the note, before closing her hand around the metal object.

"I knew you'd come."

He was laying stretched out on the couch when she let herself into the apartment. She'd stood outside the door for several minutes, deciding whether or not to knock out of politeness, before realising that giving somebody a means of entering his space whenever they wanted was probably not something that Patrick Jane did often or easily, so she had let herself in. He was awake, looking up at her with his arms beneath his head, but he sat up when she closed the door behind her and shed her shoes and jacket in the designated space by his own. She went over to the couch, sitting down in the space he had provided. On the coffee table were two mugs of hot cocoa, a real change from their usual tea and coffee, and a tub of ice cream with two spoons. The hot cocoa was steaming, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"You heard my car downstairs, didn't you?" she realised.

He shrugged. "The law prevents me from revealing my secrets," he told her, handing her the mug. She sighed after breathing in the cocoa aroma, leaning softly into the couch cushions. Jane did the same, so that their faces were only inches apart, just two mugs and the rising steam from the liquid inside them between them. "Lisbon, now you have to talk to me."

"It's not important," she insisted still.

"Yes, it is. The conditions of you coming here are that we talk," he told her.

"Actually, I just came for the ice cream-"

"Talking first." He insisted. "Do I have to hypnotise you into talking to me?"

She sighed, surrendering. "I'm not the first woman this has happened to, Jane."

"I don't care."

She hesitated, and he boldly put his hand on her cheek, his thumb traced a faint line on her jaw line. "You can trust me, you know that, right?" he asked her, his voice a whisper.

Her voice didn't shake when she answered. "Yes, I do trust you."

"Then why won't you tell me what he did?" he asked her.

There was silence, and then...

"Jackson and I were dancing for an hour," she began. "Then we went back to his apartment. We started to get passionate and then..." she broke off, moving her eyes so that they were looking over the back of the couch rather than into Jane's intense eyes. "...and then he called my by another woman's name."

Jane did a double take. "He did....it wasn't just a similar sounding name?"

She scoffed a little. "My name doesn't sound like 'Amy', Jane."

"That bastard," he growled, his hand stilling on her cheek. She hadn't seen him this angry since the last time they'd had a Red John case.

She kept her eyes away from his still. "I wasn't the only woman he was seeing."

"How many?" he asked gently.

"Three others," she confirmed.

"Oh, Lisbon..." he whispered, his voice sympathetic but more comforting as he began to race her jaw line again.

"I should have known this was happening. I should have seen the signs..."

"You can't go through your whole life thinking that everyone you need is going to let you down," he told her.

She smiled rather ironically. "Most of my life proves otherwise. They either die or disappoint."

Jane looked away for a moment, and then moved his hand, taking away their mugs and then raising it to her once again, tracing it all the way back through her hair before resting it on her shoulder, pulling her fully against him. She bought her hand up, resting it on his back for a second before taking a fistful of his shirt in her grasp, letting her head rest on his chest. He put his head down on top of hers – closing her in, but not in a bad way. She felt warm, she felt protected, but she didn't feel weak for it.

"I know you think I'm going to let you down..." he muttered, not needing to mention his intentions towards Red John. "But you should know that I'm not going to do it. Not intentionally."

"Thank you," she whispered back.

"I don't want to be the one who makes you cry like that. Not like you did last night."

She raised her head, looking at him stubbornly. "I was not crying!"

"You had been," he said calmly. "I could tell." He put his hand back on her cheek again. "I don't want to be the one who makes you think that you have to be ashamed of your tears, and I don't want to be the one who makes you cry in the first place. It...it hurt me to see you like that," he admitted.

"It did?" she frowned.

"Yes," he nodded.

"But it wasn't your fault."

"I know but...you're Lisbon," he justified. "No one should treat you like he did. You don't deserve it."

She sighed, leaning into his tough. "How did I actually start falling for that asshole, Jane?" she asked.

"I don't know," he told her honestly, "but he's definitely an asshole." She looked away again, the same and blows to her pride starting to resurface. "Lisbon, look at me." She didn't. "Look at me, Teresa." This time, she did. "Close your eyes. Close. Your. Eyes. Woman." Her eyelids flickered shut, and he put his arms around her. "Come here," he guided her back so that she was leaning against him, her head pressed into his neck so that her breath was tickling his skin. "Just relax. You're here and I'm not going anywhere. Jackson's going to be sorry for what he did to you, because he's just lost the best thing in the world. So just forget about everything that he did to you and remember what an incredible woman you are without him." He felt her smile against him, and her arms tightened around his back. "He doesn't deserve you, Lisbon," he whispered to her.

"Thank you, Jane."

"I don't want to see you hurt again," he added. "I can't."

"You sound like you're starting to care," she noticed.

"Yes, I do," he whispered, barely audible but she felt the words leaving his throat from the hold she had on him. She was so comfortable in his arms that she didn't even want to move.

"Come on, let's get some sleep," he told her.

"I don't want to move."

"Just down the hall."

He guided her down the hall, lending her the another shirt and the same pair of sweatpants as he had done the night before, this time only turning around when she changed out of her clothes. He waited until he heard her snuggle beneath the blankets, neither contemplating that this was the first time he would properly share a bed with someone since his wife, and then he climbed in beside her. He was surprised when Lisbon returned her head to his shoulder, but he happily let her do so.

"You know that you could have told me all of this last night," he pointed out.

"I know," she yawned.

He smiled at the exhaustion in her voice. "You're an incredibly stubborn woman."

"I know," she repeated.

He smiled again, and she fidgeted beneath the blankets as she got comfortable. She ended up kicking them down partly and freeing her arms. Eventually, she found her comfort. "Patrick?" she whispered, using his first name when she remembered what he'd said a few minutes before, even though she was on the very edge of sleep.

"Yes?"

"I care about you too," she told him, before her breathing evened out.

He smiled, taking her hand above the blankets as his own eyes began to droop. "Sweet dreams, my dear."

END.