A/N: As much as I loved how "Blue Bird" ended, I felt sort of bad that Jane's plans for Lisbon at the hotel didn't go as he'd hoped. Not to say this fic will see the course of their true love going smoothly. But imagine Abbot and Cho didn't show up. Imagine Lisbon didn't find out he'd been playing her. Imagine the murder suspects had waited until the next day to start showing up at the hotel. Got all that? Now, let's pick up from dinner that night and take things in another direction…

Blue Bird, Redux

Everything was perfect. The champagne was chilling in the silver bucket on the table. Jane had ordered the crème brulee well in advance. The table afforded a beautiful view of the Gulf of Mexico, the sun setting upon the water, the candlelight glowing as the lights in the hotel restaurant began to dim for the evening.

And then Lisbon descended the stairs in the coral colored dress he'd bought for her. She literally took his breath away.

She smiled at him as he watched her take each step, and he toasted her with his cocktail, returning her smile while his heart flipped over in anticipation of what he was about to do.

In a last-ditch effort to keep her with him, he was going to share what was in his heart. Even though it was hard. Even though it might be too late and she might go to DC to be with Pike anyway.

She walked past the concierge's desk and went straight to their table for two near the window. He rose to greet her.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, and she blushed. He held out her chair and she sat, and he couldn't resist touching her soft, bare shoulders with his warm hands. He felt her shiver a little at his touch, and it made him tremble inside with excitement at what the evening might hold.

"Thank you for this," she said, meaning the dress. "I love the color."

"I knew it would look perfect on you."

She smiled at him. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He'd shaved. Bought a new shirt from one of the hotel's boutiques, along with a pale green tie that matched his eyes.

He could see the spark of sensual appreciation in her gaze, could feel it charging the air between them.

"Thanks," he said.

Their waiter arrived and presented them with menus, then he popped the cork of the champagne and poured them each a glass.

"Wow," commented Lisbon. "Champagne!"

"It's a special occasion, isn't it?" he explained. "Our last case together. Perhaps our last night, if our murder suspect shows up as planned."

"You think he'll come tonight?" she asked, looking a bit disappointed at the prospect.

"I don't know for certain, but I think it unlikely. Now, discussion of our current case is officially on the shelf for the rest of the evening, deal?"

She grinned, her dimples transforming her face. He blinked, allowing himself to drop his guard and show for once how much her smiles had always affected him. Her eyes widened at what she saw in his expression, and she blushed anew, picking up her champagne flute to hide her reaction.

"Deal," she agreed.

"A toast then,"said Jane, raising his glass. "To us, and to a friendship that has spanned years and even continents."

"To us," she repeated, their glasses ringing when they touched.

As they took their first sip, their eyes met and held, and they both downed their wine faster than they should, each seeking a much-needed dose of courage.

The waiter appeared again a few minutes later, and they gave their orders of pan-seared scallops and grilled mahi mahi.

Now that this was finally happening, after a week's worth of planning, Jane was suddenly at a loss for words. But he couldn't afford to behave this way; it was too late for hesitation. He had to reach from deep inside himself for the nerve to articulate his feelings, because if he didn't, she was as good as gone, and this meal might well be their last together. For Jane, it was a matter of life or complete emotional death.

"Teresa-" he began earnestly.

"You remember our first case together?" she asked, holding out her glass for a refill. He complied, but he found himself a little off kilter at her sudden change of topic. He struggled internally to regroup.

"Yes," he finally managed, focusing. "I was a pathetic mess."

She smiled gently. "Yes, you were. I only mention it because when I look at you today—how much you've changed, how far you've come—it makes me happy. I know you'll be all right now. I won't have to worry about you."

He regarded her thoughtfully a moment, noted that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. It humbled him to realize that she'd worried about him over the years, though of course he'd always known she had. He hadn't allowed himself to care. He'd known he'd probably been the subject of many of her prayers as well, but in his quest for Red John, he'd forced himself not to dwell on the pain he must have caused her, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to keep his eyes on the prize. But no more.

Since he'd returned from South America, and she'd pointed out that he'd never considered her feelings in the past, he'd firmly resolved to put her happiness before his for a change. He was only now coming to the conclusion that neither of them would be truly happy if she left. The truth was, he didn't ever want her to stop worrying about him, because that would mean she wasn't thinking of him at all. Those two years on the island, he could thinking of no one but her.

"I only survived all this time because of you, Lisbon. Because of your support, and your indulgence and your patience. I'm only back in the States because of you. A free man because of you. Alive because of you."

"Jane—"

"No, listen to me. I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay, and for things you—well, you have no idea about."

He thought of that moment after he'd killed Red John with his bare hands. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger and kill himself, too. But he hadn't, because of her. Once again, she'd saved his life without even realizing it.

"Jane," she said again, her voice a shaky whisper.

He blinked back his own sudden tears. "So don't think I'll be okay if you leave, because I won't. I don't say this to make you feel guilty, or to manipulate you into staying. I'm just being honest. You deserve my honesty for a change."

The waiter chose that charged moment to present their meals and they forced themselves to eat. The food was delicious, but neither of them enjoyed it. He watched Lisbon pick at her scallops and felt instantly ashamed. This meal wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be light and happy, and then he was going to ease his way into admitting his true feelings, which he hoped would be enough to compel her to stay.

He tried to turn things back to their initial lightheartedness, but the moment was lost and he wanted to kick himself for jumping straight into the deep stuff. The conversation began to fizzle out, as she was becoming more and more uncomfortable and unhappy with her thoughts. The crème brulee didn't even seem to cheer her.

When she removed the cloth napkin from her lap, he felt a growing sense of panic.

"There's dancing in the lounge," he said, trying to restrain his desperation.

"Dancing?" she repeated, and he didn't mistake the new spark in her eye at the suggestion.

"Yes. Come dancing with me. For old time's sake." And he smiled a little, pleased beyond measure when her own smile returned.

"Okay," she said. "For a little while."

The lounge was dark and moody, a lone pianist playing old standards and current ballads on a baby grand in a corner. Jane immediately took her hand and led her to the dance floor in the center of the room, where other couples swayed to an old Sinatra tune.

He pulled her closer than he ought, but she didn't protest, and with her high heels they were nearly the same height. His hand rested on her lower back to guide her, one small hand in his, her other landing on his shoulder. He could feel her soft breasts against his chest as he directly held her gaze. He imagined she could feel the steady throb of his heart beneath hers.

"Do you remember the first time we danced?" he asked, trying to find a happier stop on Memory Lane.

She smiled. "Yes. It was on a case—someone else's class reunion."

He'd thought of that time often—the most prolonged moment he'd ever held her. They'd danced again over the years—CBI Christmas parties, a fundraising gala—but nothing had ever seemed as intimate as that first time, when she'd laid her head against his shoulder and swayed with him, lost in the music of her favorite song.

"Well, now that you're leaving, you think you could finally share your most intimate secret with me?"

"My most-?" And then she laughed, the memory returning of their dance floor conversation from long ago. His eyes smiled into hers.

"Tenor sax," she admitted.

He looked miffed. "I guessed saxophone," he reminded her.

"But not tenor sax," she corrected.

"Meh. Semantics."

"It was nice to drive you crazy for a change."

"You certainly did that," he said huskily, and his hand rose to lightly trace the line of her backbone. "Many sleepless nights followed that dance."

"Yes," she breathed, for that was true of her also.

His hand found the ends of her long hair and he played with the soft locks.

"I'm glad I can put that mystery to rest at last," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But I suppose I'm not surprised. I can tell you have amazing embouchure." His eyes rested on her lips and they parted slightly at his words, a blush warming her cheeks.

They continued to dance in silence, and her hand on his shoulder crept closer to his collar, her fingertips barely grazing the hair at his nape. He couldn't help his slight shiver, or the darkening of his eyes as he looked at her. Her eyes rested on each feature of his face, and he knew she was committing him to memory. Without thinking, her hand touched his cheek and he held his breath when her eyes found his again. He let her see it at last—his longing, his desire.

"Teresa," he whispered, and she turned suddenly shy on him, her eyes closing against the strong feeling she'd seen there. And so he pressed his smooth cheek to hers, breathed in the sweet smell of cherry blossoms.

One song ended and another began, the pianist wisely moving from one slow dance to the next, correctly gauging the mood of the dancers. He held her hand now between their bodies, their sensual awareness increasing as each moment slipped by.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to take a short break. I'll see you back here in a few."

The pianist broke the spell, and piped in adult contemporary emitted from the speakers. Some dancers continued, but most left the floor to find chairs and order a drink.

"Let's take a walk on the beach," he suggested. She nodded, still in a daze, and he led her easily to the lounge exit, then through a sliding glass door that led outside. At the end of the paved walkway, she paused to take off her sandals, and Jane gladly offered his support while she balanced on one foot. She smiled as her bare feet met the sand, still warm from the sun.

The moon was up and they breathed in the fresh gulf air, walking close to each other along the shore, though they were no longer touching.

"It's a beautiful night," she said.

"Yes."

"I'm glad we're doing this. It's a fitting end," she said. "We started on one coast..."

She looked to her left and saw that he was no longer beside her. She turned back to see he had stopped, was looking out into the waves as the tide brought them higher up on shore.

She walked back to stand beside him.

"Jane?"

He turned to her then, his hands going to her bare upper arms.

"Don't go," he said passionately.

She took an involuntary step back. "What?"

"I thought I could let you go, but I can't. Not without telling you the truth of what I feel."

"Jane," she repeated, beginning to pull away in fear. But he held her fast, dipped his head a little so she would be forced to meet his eyes.

"It's too late," she began.

"It doesn't have to be. Just please, let me say this, and if you still want to leave…"

She nodded, and by the light of the moon he could see the pounding of her pulse in her slim throat.

"The truth is…I love you. I've been afraid to tell you. Afraid to get too close to someone again. Afraid of letting myself be happy, that I didn't deserve it. I know I don't deserve you. Pike can offer you everything I can't—stability, normalcy, sanity. You'd be crazy yourself to give that up. But I'm selfish enough that I can't let you go without telling you my true feelings. If you go anyway I'll understand, but there it is, the unvarnished truth."

Her face was streaked with tears by the end of his speech, her chest rising and falling with emotion. He felt the muscles in her arms tense, and he wondered if she was considering punching him in the nose.

"You bastard," she hissed.

"Teresa—"

"Truth? Now you tell me the truth? For weeks I've given you the chance to tell me how you feel, and first you only spouted that bull about how you want me to be happy, but then you switch gears on me and say don't go, don't break up the team. What the hell, Jane?"

"I know, I know. I've sent mixed messages—"

"You think?"

"But I'm telling you the whole truth now, I swear."

"Well, here's another truth, Patrick Jane: I think you should go to straight to Hell!"

She broke away from him now, marching back toward the hotel, her long dress tangling in her legs so that she nearly tripped before she stopped and angrily gathered her skirt up to her knees. Jane would have smiled if he weren't so desperate. But he wasn't quitting this time. She was still here with him, so he still had a chance.

He caught up with her and grabbed her left arm, spinning her around to face him, causing her to drop her sandals in the sand.

"Stop, Teresa. Please. I love-"

She tried to jerk away again, but he held fast. She gave a low growl of frustration.

"You're like a child, Jane, not wanting to give up your toy. You don't really care about the toy, you just care if someone else wants to play with it."

His lips quirked a little at her analogy. This was a mistake. Her right hand was still free and before he could clearly see her intent in the dim light, she'd balled her fist and swung with all her might.

"How's that for old time's sake!"

Jane found himself on his ass in the sand, blood dripping from his nose.

He watched her stomp toward the hotel, and he rose slowly to his feet. Hope suffused him.

"She still loves me," he said with a smile.

He flinched when the movement shot a sharp pain between his eyes. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it to his bleeding nose, then picked up her sandals and followed after her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Inside her hotel room, Lisbon angrily began packing her clothes, cussing a blue streak about demanding, inconsiderate men. Jane was the main subject of her diatribe, but Pike didn't escape her wrath either. She'd do well to go back to Washington, get her old job back and to Hell with both of them.

There was a knock on the door. It didn't take a psychic to know who was on the other side.

"Go away, Jane."

"Come on, Lisbon. Open up. Let's talk about this."

"No. It's too late, like I told you."

"I love you. It's not too late."

"You promised that if I didn't like what you had to say, you'd let me go."

She waited for him to reply, then breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't. But then her eyes filled with tears because perhaps he really had given up.

"I lied," he said, and she turned in surprise to see him standing in the connecting doorway between their suites. "I'm not letting you go."

Lisbon rounded on him, more than willing to punch him again.

"Get out."

"No," he said. "Not unless you tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Tell me you don't love me."

He advanced on her but she stood her ground. "I. Don't. Love. You," she enunciated through clenched teeth.

He looked into her eyes and grinned. "Liar."

"Jane, I'm warning you—"

But his mouth was suddenly crushing hers, his hands threading through her hair, holding her still while he ravaged her mouth. For a surprised moment, her hands remained balled into fists, but then, as his lips softened, his tongue entreating entrance, she moaned and opened to him. Her hands gripped his lapels and she was kissing him back, the years of want, of denial, melting away as she gave herself completely to the moment...

TBC

A/N: It was a real shame that those connecting rooms went to waste, wasn't it? Well, waste not, want not, as they say. Chapter 2 is on its way…Please let me know if you enjoyed Chapter 1.