Author's Note: The end! I'm kind of sad it's over, honestly. But I'm looking forward to the episode tonight! And I want to thank EVERYONE for reviewing, you guys have no idea how much I appreciate it! So thank you.

THE SOUND OF SILENCE

Volume Ten

In the attitude of silence the soul finds its path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness.

- Mahatma Gandhi

Lisbon may be denying it, but she is well aware that things between them aren't perfect.

While they are together, in their own way, at the same time they are not.

They never kiss.

He never stays over.

(She never asks him to, though sometimes she wants to so badly her skin aches with longing.)

They linger on the edge between friends and something more, crossing forward then doubling back, never straying too far into either territory.

Sometimes she wants to know why he is so hesitant to make that final leap.

Other times, when she is feeling self-conscious and unsure about his feelings, she thinks that maybe she would rather not know, that she would rather live in denial. He's not... ashamed of her, is he? She knows she's not the best relationship material, that she's got some serious personal issues - but so does he. So that can't be it, can it?

She had thought he would be very public about their 'relationship,' with grand gestures and ostentatious displays of affection designed just to embarrass and annoy her. She had thought he would delight at the chance to make her blush and tease her in front of everyone.

If anything, though, he is now more intensely private than ever.

When it is just them he is intimate and sweet - and, yes, impish and irritating - but in public he denies any sort of flirting at all.

And at the back of her mind, always lingering, that ominous shadow hovers over her thoughts, waiting for her to confront Jane about his silence.

One day Van Pelt straight up asks her about him, says, "Are you and Jane seeing each other?"

The worlds tumble out before she can stop them, and she goes white as a ghost. She raises a hand to her mouth, looking horrified, and stutters, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask that, it just came out - it's none of my business - it's just the guys were wondering and then I came to see you and -"

Lisbon gets over her shock and pulls herself together.

"Van Pelt, 's alright, don't worry 'bout it."

Van Pelt catches sight of Jane lying on Lisbon's couch and flushes even more. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry..."

She trails off, but it is obvious she is still curious about the answer.

So is Lisbon, if she is being entirely honest.

Old Jane would have possibly gone along with it and tried to convince everyone they were dating (even if they weren't) just for the sake of amusement, but New Jane reacts oppositely. He sits up, raises his eyebrows incredulously, and shakes his head, looking at Van Pelt as if she's gone crazy.

Lisbon feels like someone has kicked her in the gut, a strange painful tug on her insides, but she goes along with him.

"It's no big deal, Van Pelt. And no, we're not seeing each other, of course not. Why would you ever think we were?"

She also acts as if Van Pelt is nuts.

"I don't know - just, you guys..."

"Never mind," cuts in Lisbon before Van Pelt can explain. "We're not. And tell Rigsby and Cho to call off that stupid bet - I don't like having gossip follow me around. And go home - it's way too late to still be here."

"Sure, Boss," replies Van Pelt meekly, then ducks out of her office.

Lisbon is reluctant to face Jane, scared that her emotions will be written clearly across her face, so she busies herself at her desk. She finds it hard to concentrate though, running Jane's reaction over and over again in her mind, like a film loop.

No, they're not seeing each other.

Well, fine.

Fine.

She can hear Jane stand up and she tenses, refusing to look at him. He walks over to her, kneels down by her chair, and takes her chin with his fingers, turning her head to face him. She looks at a point somewhere above his shoulder. He leans closer, staring into her eyes, trying to reforge their connection and get something across. Her gaze flicker between his eyes and his shoulder, trying and failing to understand, then she looks down at the floor.

She hates that he can read her this well, that he only needs one look to tell exactly what she is feeling.

He leans closer and presses his lips to her cheek, lingering. An apology. She closes her eyes and savors the touch, feeling, as she often does, that it may be the last. He presses another kiss to her cheek, lower down where her dimple is, hovering just shy of touching her lips.

Lisbon goes still, waiting to see what he will do, feeling like her nerve endings are on fire.

He hesitates, his lips lingering against her skin, and she holds her breath.

He draws back, gives her a sad little smile.

She gazes into his eyes, frowning, her thoughts racing a mile a minute. He wanted to kiss her, she can tell. She can see it on him, is starting to be able to read him the way he reads her.

So why didn't he?

He makes as if to stand up, but she reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, her fingers firm against the material of his vest. He looks up.

"Wait, Jane," she says, pausing to lick her lips. This is it, this is the moment - she can't put it off any longer. "We need to talk."

Her voice is serious, but gentle, both reassuring and a little scared at the same time. Her throat feels raw, her pulse skittering in her veins like a frightened critter. Jane gazes back, frowning but not surprised, before he nods his head and leans back against her desk, half-sitting on it. He looks just as apprehensive as she feels.

Lisbon walks over to lock the door, then sits back down in her chair. There is silence for a long moment as she tries to sort out her thoughts, searching for how to start.

"I got your message," she ends up saying.

Jane's gaze sharpens, intent and focused on her. His body goes very still, waiting for her to continue.

"I got it," she repeats. "I mean, I understood - understand. Why you're not talking."

Jane doesn't move, his eyes trained on hers.

She swallows, trying to soothe her dry throat, then sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, fully aware that it makes her overbite more pronounced but unable to prevent the nervous tic.

"You know it's not true, right?" she says carefully, her voice small and gentle, as if soothing a child.

Jane stares back.

"You didn't kill your family, Jane."

He visibly flinches, casting his gaze down to the floor, hiding from her.

"I know you feel like your words did, but it isn't true. And I wish I could promise you that it won't happen again, that you'll never have to experience that kind of grief, but that isn't how the world works. Things happen, you can't control it."

He swallows, still avoiding her eyes, the way he always does when he feels exposed and vulnerable. Her chest aches, a pull on her heart that wants to reach out to him.

She stands up out of her chair and takes a step forwards, stopping just in front of him. She ducks her head a little until he finally looks at her.

"But if anything does happen," she continues, her voice soft, "it won't be because of your words."

He slants his eyes to the side, looking away. She steps even closer, standing between his legs, the fabric of her shirt just brushing against his vest, his body heat seeping across the distance to warm her. She places a hand on each side of his head, her fingers sliding into his hair, and turns his face until he can't avoid her.

"It's okay to speak, Jane. Nothing bad is gonna happen because of you speaking."

He swallows, but doesn't tear his eyes away. Her fingertips stroke against his scalp, a calming motion that soothes both of them.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to me," she whispers.

She had guessed correctly.

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against hers, slumping heavily, as if he can't bear to hold himself up anymore. Her fingers keep combing through his hair and she closes her eyes as well, lost in pure sensation as Jane's hands slide along her waist to her back, pulling her closer, closer, until nothing can pass between them, not even air.

She pulls on his hair a little, tugging just enough to draw his head back so she can look at him again. His eyes are clear but red, light and troubled as they stare back at her.

"But you know that already, don't you?" she continues gently.

He swallows, nods, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, gaping like a fish. She has never seen him look this frustrated with himself, this close to losing it; she can feel his fingers tensing against her waist, scrunching the material of her shirt.

"Hey, shh, it's okay," she soothes hurriedly. "'It's alright. I'm not gonna make you speak."

He presses his nose against the skin of her neck, dipping his head to kiss it, hot shivers erupting over her skin. She has to try very hard to focus, to concentrate in order to speak coherently.

"You know that, but you don't... feel it?" she tries, her voice as delicate as glass.

She can feel more than see him nod against her neck. Her fingers slide down from his hair to rest against his shoulders, where she strokes her thumbs against the smooth material of his vest.

"Okay. Okay, I'm not gonna make you talk. Just - I want you to know - I mean, I can't promise nothing is ever gonna happen to me. I'm a cop - bad things happen. But if anything does, it won't be because of something you did. You're not a danger to me, Jane," she whispers.

He heaves a shuddering sigh, pressing tighter against her, his face buried in her collarbone. She nuzzles her chin against the top of his hair, her fingers smoothing over his shoulders.

"You don't need to talk now - there's no rush. When you're ready," she continues softly. "I just want you to think about that, alright? Just think about it."

He pulls his head back and stares at her, his eyes light and wet, intently serious - or perhaps seriously intent. He nods, holding her gaze, then his gaze drop to her lips. Her heart skips a beat. He lowers his head a fraction of an inch and she raises hers almost imperceptibly, drawn together, closer, closer, breathing each other's air, closer, closer...

"You aren't going to hurt me," she whispers against his mouth.

He gives in.

He kisses her, his faint stubble searing her skin, his wet tongue burning her mouth, his warm lips melting seamlessly against hers.

This feeling of utter rightness, of belonging, of harmony, crests over her so strongly that she almost staggers from the force of it.

Nothing has ever felt like this for her. This is coming home, this is the way the world is meant to be, everything is in its right place, and she nevereverever wants to let go, never wants to give up this feeling, never wants to lose it.

"Mm," she whimpers against his mouth, and he kisses her harder, more desperately, his fingers coming up to frame her face, clutching on as if he can't get close enough.

She breaks away, gasping for air, and Jane takes the opportunity to latch on to her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone, sucking on her pulse point.

"Oh, God, Jane," she moans.

"Hmm," he agrees, humming against her skin, the vibrations traveling through her nerves and lighting them on fire.

He stumbles backwards and she automatically follows, landing on top of him on the couch - thank God the blinds are closed - and kissing him urgently. He threads his fingers through her hair gently, and the kiss dwindles into something softer, slower, but all the more heartfelt. She wants to climb inside him, wants to curl around him, wants to merge their two souls until they can't be separated.

Instead, she kisses his jaw and, hiding her eyes, whispers in his ear, "I love you."

It is the first time she has said the words aloud.

She had hinted at them before, sure, but it's different to actually hear them in their totality.

She can't remember the last time she had said these words - to anyone. It's almost frightening, how anxious they make her feel.

Jane goes still, then wraps his arms around her and presses his hands against her back, pullingher tighter against him, squishing her, so tight that she almost struggles to breathe. She doesn't care. She hugs him back, pressing impossibly nearer, sitting on his lap and arching against his chest and breathing in his neck. She has never felt closer to him, in all senses of the word.

Jane's breath is shallow and slow in her ear, before he tugs her a little backwards to look at her. She stares at him, her pulse thin and thready, her eyes hot and wet. She can see every single one of his thick blond eyelashes, the faint flecks of grey in his irises, the tiny, fine lines around his eyes.

He takes one hand off her back and rests his palm against her chest, directly above her heart, his touch firm and warm. She can feel her heart beating inside, as if just his presence is enough to make it stronger.

"I get it," she whispers.

He flashes the briefest of grins, his eyes crinkling up, before his face drops into something serious, intent, warm.

He kisses her, slow and deep, gentle and soft, cradling the back of her head and stroking along her waist. She lets her fingers slide into his hair, smooth over his shoulders, fist in the material of his shirt.

She shifts in his lap and he groans, his fingers clenching in her hair.

Their next kiss is slightly off, because she is smirking and he is distracted.

She wants to hear that sound again.

She sits down more fully, straddling him completely. He breaks the kiss and leans his head back against the couch, his eyes clenched shut and his mouth gaping a little open.

God, that's hot.

She presses her lips against his, slides her tongue along his, and he pushes harder against her back, his hands dipping dangerously low. His fingers skim against the waistband of her pants, slipping just inside, before they both pause, panting heavily, trying to read each other as they dangle on the precipice of something they won't be able to come back from.

Something they don't want to come back from.

"Yes," she breathes.

He kisses her, his hands cupping her neck, brushing along her shoulders, down her ribs, across her waist. She tugs on his hair, hard, and he groans again before ever so slowly pulling the bottom of her shirt up, his fingers lingering against her skin. He tosses it to the floor, along with her bra, then trails his fingertips up her ribs. He reaches her shoulders and brushes her hair back gently, laying a kiss on her collarbone, then pulls his head up and pauses.

Lisbon opens her eyes to find him staring at her bullet scar.

It's much paler now, smaller and smoother, but it's a still a visible reminder that Red John nearly got her too. She knows that that is what he is thinking, can tell from the careful way he soothes the skin, the infinitely soft and tender kiss he brushes against the mark.

Her heart feels too big for her chest, and there's a lump in her throat that she tries to swallow.

Jane wraps his arms around her torso and buries his face in her skin, taking a simple moment to just be, an intimate instance in which they breathe each other in and appreciate the fact that they can.

Their movements are gentle, achingly slow, embers glowing inside of them. This is so much more than just sex. This is vulnerability, trust, care, love, connection, closer closer closer, nearer nearer dearer. This is two control freaks losing control, allowing themselves to lose control because they know the other will catch them, will look after them, will cherish them with every fibre of their being.

Lisbon has always found sex uncomfortably intimate, leaving a part of herself vulnerable and open, unable to hide or control her base reactions. But with Jane, she doesn't even try; she lets herself go, lets herself feel, unbidden, untampered, undisciplined. Just her. And him.

The sight of Jane letting himself go, losing himself in her, no mask, no pretense, no restraints, is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Afterwards, she lies on the couch with her head on his chest, ear listening to his steady heartbeat, sleepy and content, her body humming. She nestles into his skin and closes her eyes for a while, his heartbeat lulling her into a state of near-sleep, half-dream and half-awake, the two worlds merging until it's hard to tell them apart.

What is that sound?

That pounding, like deep bass under the ocean, faster and faster and faster.

"Lisbon..."

"Hmm?" she murmurs sleepily.

She freezes. Her eyes fly open. Her head shoots up, wide eyes staring into Jane's even wider ones. His mouth is open, his gaze wild and frightened, yet very intent.

His heart is racing under her palm, so fast that she half-worries he is having a heart attack.

"Jane?" she whispers.

If possible, his heartbeat picks up even more speed, practically vibrating. He swallows, staring unblinkingly at her, and his lips form noiseless words.

"I... I... love you too."

His voice is quiet and husky, hoarse from underuse, but it still has echoes of the smoothness that it used to hold, all honey and velvet. And Jane.

It feels so surreal, a deja vu experience that brings back a million memories, staggering her with emotion. Her eyes are hot, her throat tight, her heart swelling to unimaginable proportions, warmth seeping through her blood.

He wipes his thumb against her cheek and it comes away wet.

"Did you just -?" she starts to ask, but her voice breaks before she can finish.

He is still staring at her, one hand on her cheek and the other on her back, holding her to him. That frightened look enters his eyes again, that light but shadowed gleam, like a hunted animal. She can feel his erratic pulse skittering under her hand.

He swallows, shakes his head, and stutters, "I - I can't -"

She seriously fears he will scare himself to death, his heartbeat shaking, his skin pale, his eyes sliding away with shame.

But it's enough. It's enough.

"Hey, 's okay, 's okay," she murmurs, pulling his head back to face her. "It's okay, Jane. Take your time. You don't have to do everything tonight."

She still can't believe how far he has come tonight, in the space of a few hours. She has never been this proud of anyone.

He looks at her, gives her the slightest of nods and the faintest of smiles. His grip tightens, his eyes turning warm. She kisses his cheek, his lips, settling back against his chest and resting her head in his neck.

"One step at a time, okay?" she murmurs, her voice quiet and delicate, almost child-like.

She can feel him nod against her hair, his pulse settling down, his skin warming against hers. He laces their fingers together.

One step at a time.

Silence swirls in the room around them but this time, she knows, it will be only be temporary.