A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It's been a busy couple of weeks for me, with school starting again, but also, quite honestly, this concluding chapter was more difficult to write than I expected. I hope I adequately tied things up for you, and balanced it with enough romance along the way (the end is slightly M-rated).

I'll stop yammering and let you decide for yourself.

Chapter 10

Jane sat in the hospital waiting room while Alex was in surgery. He didn't feel sad exactly, nor did he feel fear or even anger. He was numb to all the expected emotions one would have if the man who'd raised you had been shot. Lisbon had stayed behind at the cemetery, speaking to the police (she still had a few friends with SACPD) while Kristina Cleveland waited in the back of a squad car, her frail wrists in handcuffs, tears streaking her lined face.

In the midst of the chaos of the ambulance's arrival, Jane had looked around to find Derek Cleveland had disappeared again, as if he hadn't even been there at all. At this point, Jane didn't much care about Cleveland's whereabouts anymore, except he would have liked to have known where he'd been these sixty-five years—just out of personal curiosity.

Jane leaned against the uncomfortable chair back, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. He felt tremendously exhausted, the last few days' drama—sleeping with Lisbon, the arrival of his long-lost guardian—having drained him of any excess energy. He might have dozed when he felt a familiar small hand on his knee. He slowly opened his eyes to see her, looking haggard herself though beautiful, even beneath the fluorescent lights of the waiting room. He managed a crooked smile.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry to have left you with that mess."

She shook her head, not returning his smile. "Mess is an understatement. The DA is reluctant to press charges against an eighty-five-year-old woman, and yet, a man's been shot—you see the conundrum. Regardless, I'm sure she'll be out on bail soon." She paused. "Any word on your—on Alex?"

"No," he said simply. "But the surgery might take a few hours, given the proximity to his heart." His smile became wry. "Hm, maybe the miracle of the day will be discovering he actually has one."

She frowned at his off mood. "The doctors are good here. Would you like anything? Some tea?"

"I would. Let's both go to the cafeteria. I need a stretch."

They took their purchases outside into a small courtyard off the waiting room, settling on two opposing wrought-iron benches. Lisbon grimaced at the too-bitter coffee; likewise Jane at the cheap teabag selection. At least the blueberry muffin was passable. He broke off half and gave it to Lisbon.

"Did you see Derek Cleveland anywhere?" Jane asked her, lifting his face up to the warm California sun.

"No. He disappeared, like a ghost. The police wanted a few words with him, too…That was quite a scene," she marveled, remembering the drama of the husband and wife reunion.

"So, our elderly client attempted premeditated murder. I have to say, I didn't see that coming. I knew she was keeping things from us, but she hid it well. I don't know about you, but I feel sort of…used."

She raised her eyebrows at that.

"So, she suspected the affair with Samantha Hawkins. Can you imagine, going through life with that desire for vengeance festering inside of you?"

"No," said Jane, eyes closed. "What a waste of time." They both thought then of Alex, responsible for Angela's death, and Jane realized he'd accomplished nothing by carrying around his hatred for the old man all these years. He certainly could have killed him in retaliation, but that wouldn't have brought Angela back.

"Having Kristina in jail leaves you in a bit of a lurch, doesn't it?" he said after a moment. "You'll be getting no blood from that old turnip."

Lisbon sighed at that sudden realization. "Well, she paid the retainer at least. So, if you're still wanting blood from me, you'll just have to wait—you and poor Alex."

Jane lowered his chin and looked at her. "I told you, I've given that up, Teresa. Your money isn't what I want from you."

She felt her heart pick up a bit at the intensity in his eyes. She wanted to trust him, but she was so used to being on her guard with him, to trying to predict what he might do, that she wasn't able to relax completely. He read her expression well, however, and his lips quirked up wryly at the corners.

"I don't blame you for doubting me. I'll just have to prove it, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be."

He sipped his tea from the Styrofoam cup, and she did likewise with her coffee. They enjoyed the warmth of the outside air for a few moments, sharing the muffin, lost in their own thoughts. Then Jane caught sight of a diminutive, though muscular man at the sliding glass door, his expression completely blank. He was Korean. Aw, thought Jane. Cho.

Lisbon looked up as the door to the courtyard slid open.

"Cho," she said brightly.

"Boss."

She looked helplessly at Jane. "This is—well, Patrick Jane at the moment."

Jane rose to shake the man's hand, but he coldly ignored it, barely sparing him a disapproving glance. He had little tolerance for the man blackmailing his former boss. Jane sat back down with a grin. He had nothing but respect for a man so loyal to Lisbon.

"Rigsby told me you were here," said Cho by way of explanation.

He handed her a manila envelope, thick and weighty. She accepted it with two hands, and glanced briefly at Jane before opening it. Jane could smell the mustiness reminiscent of a dark, dusty basement the moment Lisbon pulled out a file folder, FBI stamped upon it in faded black ink. It was labeled, Derek Cleveland.

"He was an FBI informant," Cho said, cutting to the chase. "His father, John, was a suspected gangster and communist sympathizer. So was Kristina Frye."

Lisbon looked up at that. "Kristina too?"

"Yeah. She'd gone by her mother's Irish maiden name, but her father had been Russian—Pasternak. She and her mother were able to sneak out of Stalinist Russia after her father was executed for a traitor."

"Huh," said Jane. He'd been right, apparently, at least about why Derek had disappeared. Everyone during that post-war time with any Russian connections would have been suspect.

"They couldn't pin anything on either Cleveland's father or his wife at the time though," Cho continued, as Lisbon flipped through the file. She squinted down at old black and white photos of a young Derek and Kristina. "But later they were interviewed during the McCarthy hearings in the 1950's for John Cleveland's association with certain suspicious Hollywood elements, but they were cleared."

"If they'd found nothing, initially," said Lisbon, "why did Derek have to leave?"

"He'd ratted out several of John Cleveland's business associates. Some suspected commies, but mostly for organized crime. He—and the FBI, apparently—feared for his life."

"Where's he been?" asked Jane.

Cho replied to Lisbon, as if she'd asked the question.

He's about as cold as they come, Jane thought in amusement.

"He's been in Montana. Changed his name. Married a local girl, worked her father's farm. Had a calm, quiet life, from what I gathered."

"He made it back to California for the occasional rendezvous with Samantha Hawkins, however," noted Jane.

"I don't think the FBI knew about that," said Cho with his trademark dryness, looking directly at Jane for the first time.

Lisbon handed the file to Jane, despite Cho's slight frown. Lisbon caught his expression.

"You don't have to worry about Jane anymore," she told her former colleague. "We've come to an understanding."

But Cho wasn't buying it. "I could still make him disappear for you," he said. It was as if Jane weren't sitting right there.

Jane chuckled.

Lisbon smiled softly. "I'm fine."

Cho however, turned and held out his hand to Jane for the file. "I have to get this back to my FBI contact. Now that Derek Cleveland might be on their radar again, someone might go looking for this."

Jane returned it without malice.

"Thanks, Kimball," said Lisbon.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Cho," said Jane.

"Call me if you change your mind about him," said Cho, ignoring Jane. Then he turned to stride back to the door with his unmistakable military bearing.

"Well, he strikes me as a fun guy," said Jane in amusement. "I like him."

"You won't find a better man."

"Or a more loyal one, I gather."

"Nope."

They finished their repast in silence, and Lisbon felt the slight weight in her blazer pocket of the other envelope Cho had surreptitiously slipped to her. It was very thin, but it felt heavy as lead.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later, the surgeon came into the waiting room to announce to Jane that Alex was dead. The bullet had been much closer to his heart than they had thought, and despite their "trying everything we could" he'd died on the operating table.

"Thanks, Doctor," said Jane. This must be the worst part about a doctor's job, he thought absently.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, then left them there to assumedly deal with their pain. All Jane was feeling, however, was relief.

"I'm sorry too," said Lisbon. She reached for his hand, finding it cool and dry, just like the hospital.

"Don't be. I'm not."

He smiled a little, then squeezed her hand.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

She looked pointedly at the nurse's station. "Don't you need to fill out some paperwork?"

"No. I didn't even really know the man."

There was nothing she could say to that.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once again, Patrick Jane Investigations was inundated by the press, but Lisbon and Jane pushed through without comment, hurrying to the lobby, then up the elevator to the agency's offices.

"Holy, shit, Boss," said Rigsby by way of greeting.

"Tell me about it," she said blandly.

"Sorry about your father," said Van Pelt, her pretty face fairly oozing her sincerity.

"Thank you," said Jane. He was too tired to correct her. Jane went on into Lisbon's office, but she stayed behind to talk to her team.

"Cho fill you in?" she asked them.

"Yeah. But Boss," he said, lowering his voice substantially. "There's someone waiting in the spare office."

"Who?"

"Claims he's Derek Cleveland," whispered Van Pelt.

"Why are we whispering?" whispered Lisbon in amusement. "Jane!" she called.

He'd just settled onto the couch when he heard her call, and he sighed, then slowly got to his feet and returned to the lobby.

"Come with me," Lisbon said when he came back into the office lobby.

They opened the door to see Derek Cleveland standing at the window, leaning on his cane and looking out at the distant Tower Bridge, gleaming gold in the setting sun.

"How's the man who was shot?" asked the old man without preamble.

Lisbon glanced with concern at Jane, but he answered simply: "Dead."

"Sad news." He sighed wearily. "One more death on Kristina's head."

"What do you mean, one more?" asked Lisbon.

"I'm fairly certain she killed Samantha Hawkins too. If she didn't pay off someone to destroy the outside video surveillance cameras that prove she was there that night, you'll have proof that she was there, at least."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other. Jane had been right.

Lisbon frowned. "How do you know about it?"

"He's had someone watching over her all these years," said Jane.

Cleveland nodded. He wasn't denying his affair with her. "Yes. But I never would have dreamed that bitch would go that far, after all these years, or I would have had armed guards at Sam's door."

"You could have called the police."

"Kristina's an old woman—even older than I am. She won't see a day of prison time, for either murder."

Jane quietly agreed.

"What are you doing here, Derek?" asked Jane. "In this office, I mean."

"I feel responsible for the death of your friend. I saw you run to him in the cemetery."

"Kristina brought the gun," Jain pointed out. "And Alex shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"Still…" said Cleveland. He sighed heavily. "I also figured you'd have questions, since I heard you were looking into my disappearance. I wanted to make sure the record was straight."

Lisbon briefly relayed what they'd learned from his FBI file.

"That's true enough, I suppose. And as to why I've taken the risk in coming back? Well, I'm dying, you see. Cancer. If a relative of my father's colleagues is still alive and is seeking revenge at this late date, it would be fine with me. Save my new family a lot of unnecessary medical expenses."

"Sorry to hear that," said Jane politely.

Cleveland smiled, one eerily reminiscent of Jane's. "We've all gotta die of something."

"How long since you've seen Samantha?" asked Lisbon.

"At least fifty years. She met somebody. I met somebody. The distance was just too painful a barrier to cross anymore. We both had new lives. It was for the best."

Lisbon felt unaccountably saddened by this information, and she purposefully avoided looking at Jane. Would he be leaving soon too? Find somebody that wasn't her? Start another new life?

"I have a question," said Jane, jarring into her thoughts. "The woman you got into the car with the day you disappeared-?"

"Erica Flynn?" he confirmed. "She was an informant for the FBI, like me. Seems she'd had…relations with a gangster or two they were interested in. She refused to leave California like I did, and she also had a big mouth. Well, I'm sure two great detectives such as yourselves can figure out why she ended up dead."

"Samantha knew her identity," said Lisbon.

Derek Cleveland smiled again, the same gentle glow in his eyes whenever he spoke of Samantha. "But she'd kept that secret all these years. If it got out that Erica had been in that car, someone would have figured out why I was there too."

Jane and Lisbon nodded. That made sense.

"Samantha implied her husband, Harold was somehow involved with all this," said Jane, remembering the old woman's last words in the nursing home.

"Harold Hawkins was a good man," said Cleveland. "A war hero. He died long before I fell in love with Samantha, before this whole mess began, but once upon a time he stood up for my father. He didn't believe all the rumors about his organized crime connections. Of course, I know now that was wrong, but he would never listen to a harsh word against my father or my family. He was a bad judge of character, with the exception of Sam, of course, but his heart was in the right place."

"What did your father do to garner such loyalty?" asked Jane.

"I don't know. That mystery died with both of them, I suppose."

Everyone was quiet a moment, and Lisbon, realizing Derek Cleveland seemed to be leaning more heavily on his cane, gestured belatedly that he sit in the desk chair. He waved her off.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, "but if I sit, you might not be able to get me back up." There was that oddly familiar charm again, the disarming smile, the sparkling green eyes, and she was helpless, as with the other man in the room, not to respond with a smile of her own. Lisbon felt a sudden kinship with Samantha Hawkins and Kristina Cleveland. There was no resisting a man who looked like this.

"I don't mean to pry," began Jane dryly, "but what happened with Kristina, that you would have found your way to Samantha instead?"

Cleveland had the grace to look sheepish.

"Kristina and I, well—we had to get married. I had thought it would have been one night's mistake, but then she showed up at my door three months later, and well, people did things differently back in those days. But believe me, if I'd known I'd be marrying such a money-grubbing shrew, I would have defied society and just paid her off. But my father took an instant shine to her, insisted I go through with the marriage. I always felt trapped by both of them. Looking back, maybe Dad should have married her." His grin turned wry.

"But then Samantha came along," he continued, "and although she was much older than I, I knew she was the woman I should have married." He shrugged sadly. "Sometimes fate is a harsh mistress."

Jane was nodding in agreement.

"I appreciate your coming here and filling in some blanks for us," said Lisbon. "You didn't have to do that. You could have just disappeared again, gone back to your private life."

"Oh, I intend to do just that, young lady. When I heard about Samantha, I had to come back and pay my respects. I never guessed Kristina would come, though the way her mind works, I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me."

Cleveland began to move back toward the door.

"Thanks again for coming," said Jane.

"I'm am sorry for your friend," he said. "Did he have any family?"

"No," said Jane. "I don't think anyone will miss him."

"Too bad. I've come to realize how important family can be. We all need to belong to somebody."

Jane made no comment, but as Lisbon escorted the elderly man out of her office, he found Derek Cleveland's words still echoed in his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd never been to her small townhouse before, and Jane looked around it, trying to get more insight into the woman who lived there. There were boxes stacked against one wall of the living room, as if she'd just moved in, but the clutter and stacks of NRA magazines showed she'd been there awhile.

Messy women made good lovers, he'd always said. He supposed Lisbon confirmed that theory.

Lisbon watched him assessing her home, and she herself found it wanting. She didn't spend much time there, so there were few homey touches, and there were still pictures on the wall put there by previous tenants. It was cleaner and smelled better, but it wasn't much more welcoming than Jane's motel room. Still, she'd invited him here because she didn't figure he'd wanted to stay where he'd spent his last night with his would-be father. Despite his coolness regarding Alex's passing, she figured he must either be in shock, or he just didn't want to show how deeply the loss had affected him.

"Make yourself at home," she told him, setting her things down on the table in the small foyer. The envelope Cho had given her was safely zipped inside her handbag. She had no idea what she was going to do with it.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.

"Desperately," he said, sitting on her couch. He leaned his head back and immediately closed his eyes. It must have been at least ten minutes later, though it seemed like mere seconds when the smell of chamomile awakened him, and he opened his eyes to find Lisbon setting down a turquoise Fiestaware cup and saucer.

"Thank you," he said. But he didn't make any moves to pick up his cup. Instead, he reached for her hand.

"The tea can wait," he said, looking up into her soft green eyes. "I find I'm much more desperate for you at the moment."

She wanted him with her entire being, but the last time she'd gone to bed with him, he'd made her feel a fool. He plainly saw the doubt in her eyes.

"I'm through with that life, Teresa," he said. "Who I was when I met you died with Alex-whoever-his-name-was. I don't want to be that person anymore."

"Who do you want to be?" she asked, heart pounding.

"I don't know," he said honestly—maybe the most honest he had been with another person since Angela. "But maybe you can help me find out."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This should have been our first time, thought Lisbon later, her arms and legs entwined with his beneath the covers. Her body felt languid and exquisitely fulfilled, her head rested on his bare chest, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. She wondered if she could trust his word, that he was really here to stay. There was nothing to keep him here now, if he wasn't expecting money via blackmail.

Then, he spoke, and it was like he was reading her mind.

"How would you feel if I stayed on, continued to play the role of Patrick Jane?"

She lifted her head to look at him, her chin on his smooth skin. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"

He grinned. "Well, that and a commensurate salary, to be negotiated at a later date."

"Hmm," said Lisbon, but inside she was suffused with happiness. She could have everything she wanted, even a man she had partly created to her very own standards. "I'll have to talk it over with my partners."

"Fair enough."

"And you wouldn't mind becoming the honorable and dependable Patrick Jane?"

"Not at all. I sort of like the guy. He's got pizzazz."

She smiled in amusement. "He should. I created him."

His hand, which had been lightly caressing her back, crept up to her face to hold her while he bent his head for a kiss. She enjoyed the lazy warmth of his tongue, the sensual fullness of his lips, but then she suddenly pulled back a little, remembering the envelope, still sealed and waiting in her purse.

"What is it?" Jane asked, tensing slightly.

"I—I have something to confess," she said hesitantly. "When I was in your motel room the other night, I stole some of your DNA."

He made a face. "You kept some of my—?"
She laughed, heat flooding her cheeks. "No! Of course not. I took some hair from your brush, and some whiskers from your razor."

"Oh," he said blandly. He waited, the only indication of his keen interest the quiet holding of his breath. She swallowed against her own trepidation.

"Uh, then I took one of Alex's cigarette butts. I sent the samples off to Cho to see if he could find out who you two really were, given you were both blackmailing me at the time. This was before I knew the whole story about your relationship."

He remained discomfortingly silent, waiting for her to continue. "Well, Cho gave me the preliminary results at the hospital today. He told me later on the phone that it wasn't the complete DNA analysis—that could take weeks." She took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. "They also looked to see if the samples could have come from two related people."

Jane moved to get out of bed, swinging his bare feet to the floor and walked naked out of her room. She watched in dismay as he left her, but part of her couldn't help but admire his well-formed backside as he moved.

"Jane-" she called after him.

She buried her face in the pillow, still warm from his body and redolent with his intoxicating cologne. She had no idea what he was thinking. Was he mad at her? Afraid to find out the results? Or didn't he care at all?

"Dammit," she muttered.

When she smelled something burning, she arose, grabbing her robe and slipping her arms into the sleeves as she hurried to the kitchen. Jane was holding the envelope from her purse over the gas flame of her stove. She paused to watch in fascination as he dropped the burning paper into the sink, where it curled up and turned to ash in seconds.

"Bad news?" she asked.

His gaze lifted from the sink, now the repository of his past.

"I don't know. I didn't open it."

"Oh," she said.

"Come here, Teresa," he said gently, noting her hesitation. She'd been afraid of his reaction to the tests, and he hadn't done much to reassure her. She nervously tied the belt of her robe and walked further into the kitchen until she stood before him by the sink.

"I don't care enough to know anymore. I have the chance now to start over, here, with you, as a man that I'm proud to be for once." The ghost of an ironic smile hovered on his lips. "Like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes, I will arise again as Patrick Jane, brilliant and famous private eye, along with his loyal sidekick, the beautiful Teresa Lisbon."

"Sidekick?" she said, one eyebrow arching in annoyance.

"Sure. You'd be in good company—Dr. Watson. Tonto. Sancho Panza. Chewbacca…"

He pulled her closer to him by her belt, his fingers deftly untying her hasty knot before slipping inside the silky fabric to settle on her waist. She felt his arousal against her stomach, and found it suddenly difficult to focus on why he'd annoyed her.

"I was thinking more like partners," she replied, her voice a little breathless. "Mulder and Scully. Maddie and David. Fred and Ginger. Masters and Johnson-"

"Bonnie and Clyde?" he suggested, .

Her hands slid over his chest to his shoulders and she looked into blue-green eyes that sparkled warmly down at her.

"Certainly not. You will be on your best behavior from now on, or there'll be hell to pay," she threatened darkly.

"Why, Ms. Lisbon, are you blackmailing me?"

"I suppose I am, Mr. Jane."

She gave a little cry of surprise when she suddenly found herself sitting on her kitchen table, a naked Patrick Jane standing between her legs. Before she could catch her breath, he was nibbling on her ear while the pads of his thumbs massaged her sensitive nipples.

"What if I promise to only misbehave a little bit," he whispered wickedly against her ear.

"Oh, I'd make you pay dearly for that," she said. Her hand had roamed down to grasp him. He gave an involuntary jerk and air hissed out through his teeth.

"You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Lisbon," he said tightly.

He dipped his head to replace his thumbs with his mouth, while his talented fingers found her slick and ready .

"Maybe…" she amended, her grip tightening around him, leading him home. "There might be room for—ahh—further…negotiations…"

THE END

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing this fic. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, we have a fairly long hiatus to get through again, but I hope to help pass the time with another story or two. Please put me on author alert and follow me on Twitter for further updates. See you soon!