Obviously the first thing I must do is to apologise for the very tardy arrival of this chapter. I really had intended to get it up before Christmas, but I won't bother you with excuses ... there are none.

I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me, if you are still reading. And for your lovely reviews and encouragement. Believe me I have given up multiple times and it's thanks to a special few of you (you know who you are) that I am still around.

This was going to be the final chapter, but I felt I needed to give some more space to just Jane & Lisbon, so that will follow as the final chapter and consequently this one will be a little shorter.

I very much hope you enjoy this little bit more of just Jane.

When Jane finally crawled into his unmade bed sometime in the wee small hours, after reading Woody's letter, he dragged a blanket carelessly over his fully clothed body, and let the wisdom of the hippy psychiatrist's words sooth him into a few hours of undisturbed slumber.

And when he woke the next morning, refreshed and with new hope flowing through his veins, it was to a scene shrouded in the gauzy mist that promised another long hot day of cloudless skies and blazing sun.

It was the kind of day that reminded him of early childhood.

Of his own; surrounded by the bustle and heat and dust of the carnival, or of those blissful days when Charlotte was a toddler and the sea breeze would skip around them, bringing cooling relief as they played happily on the beach with their fair skin slathered in fragrant lotion and their feet buried deep in the warm white sand.

He had decided before retiring, that this morning he would take a walk along the path that climbed steeply from the corner of his parking spot and led up through the rocky outcrops into the hills above.

There he could find a place to sit in peace and figure out what project or hobby would complete his plan.

He would search for something he could do that would occupy his mind and his time, but would also be something for Teresa. Something to convince her that he was more than just a passing ship in the night, albeit one that had been moored to her dock for over a decade, but nevertheless one who could give up on whatever was anchoring him there and sail off into the sunset at any time. Not that he ever intended to leave again, of course, and not that he would have left in the past if circumstances had been different, but still, she needed reassurance and he needed a solid distraction from his crippling anxiety.

After two cups of tea, and the last of his latest supply of eggs, Jane was almost ready to embark on his short walk into the hills. Except that his last few gulps of the second cup were rudely interrupted by another call from Teresa that he sat on the steps and steadfastly refused to answer.

Woody had advised, 'don't talk till you're ready'. So he had tried not to feel too guilty about not picking up, although he berated himself for turning on his phone when he had no intention of speaking to anybody. He supposed it was that old 'secretly wanting to see her face and hear her voice' again that made him turn the phone on again but, although he was feeling pretty positive this morning, he wasn't going to get into any kind of conversation until he could present a solution without screwing things up.

He was close though.

And told himself sternly that maybe today he could do it.

The stroll, which soon became a hike and then a breathless clamber up to the ridge confirmed his suspicions … the grand 'give Lisbon some evidence / keep yourself sane' project, advocated by Woody and endorsed with some relief by himself, had to contain an element of physical activity.

As he'd sat in the man's virtual consulting room, he'd been dreading the prospect of the discussion turning to his general state of mind, because he knew it didn't take a genius to notice that some of his behaviour, both past and present, and certainly over the hours spent with Woody, showed symptoms of depression. He could admit to having been surprised that his new shrink's letter hadn't advised exercise as a coping strategy, but came to the conclusion that maybe Woody was more perceptive or perhaps more cautious than he appeared and, that being so, any such suggestion would have been greeted with snorts of derision or outright belligerence. Perhaps Jane wasn't the only one who realised that he was perfectly capable of diagnosing and treating himself, when he saw fit to admit there was something to treat.

As he reached the top of the hill and lay there panting on a pile of sandy dirt, legs and arms spread star like around him and eyes closed, Jane felt his lungs heaving like squeaky human bellows as they tried to refuel his screaming muscles. Yep, he was a smidge out of shape, but when he opened his eyes at looked up at the empty sky, he could already feel himself relaxing and the cobwebs being blown off in wisps to make tiny fluffy clouds in the wide and very blue yonder.

It occurred to him that exercise or at the very least, something more active than sitting on a couch solving riddles could indeed kill two birds with one stone. Good for his state of mind and his no longer young body, and something to reassure his prospective life partner. For, although it had crept up on him somewhat sneakily, he realised that was indeed what his very close colleague had become. If he could figure this problem of his out, they could graduate from 'lovers taking each day as it comes' to something much, much more.

It was why he had to remove his ring.

Well she could hardly wear two rings on the same finger.

Even though he had more or less decided on a plan of action for the ring, even that wouldn't be enough. Besides he had already resolved not to broach that subject until everything else was in place.

It was clear he couldn't present the lovely Teresa with nothing but this puffing old bag of bones that lay at the top of a hill miles from anywhere.

He was basically a homeless man: with nothing to his name but an Airstream on loan, a half destroyed beach house, with a grizzly past, that he never wanted to set foot in again, a bank account full of ill gotten gains that hadn't been touched for years out of guilt and apathy, and a head presently almost completely bereft of good ideas.

Pike had indeed been right.

It really was true; all he was offering Teresa was his intellect, his quirky charm and promises to be a better man … oh, and his undying love. While this was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, it was no match for the perceived and actual security that came with her job.

Ah, there was the rub.

Job versus Jane.

And he had to give her a solution that allowed for both.

Although, on reflection, there was one ray of hope; she had thrown back the fish … who seemed to have everything … to be with him.

And she did love him.

So, the final part of the puzzle had to be something fairly physical, with a certain amount of longevity, or she wouldn't be convinced, and something very tangible.

And it had to engage him enough to block out his fear until he could finally overcome it.

But what to do?

At first, after a little talk to himself about relaxation and 'letting it flow', the ideas came thick and fast.

They were dismissed just as quickly.

Bee keeping … he had to laugh at that. It had been a joke, but was something he could have found interest in … unfortunately Lisbon's back yard was pocket sized, and she would be mortified … and scared.

They could take up riding together: fresh air, exercise, mucking out stables knee deep in hay and horse dung … a step too far for city girl Teresa. Anyway, her birthday pony, tiny and cute though it was, had been a baptism of fire for her; much as she liked the gesture, she'd never been comfortable with it. Four legs that didn't belong to dogs and didn't live indoors were way outside her comfort zone.

So, nothing with wildlife then.

A school for budding magicians and performers … scratch that … uncomfortably near his old 'profession'. She'd have a hissy fit! Also, not terribly active.

He could buy some land and start a vineyard … she likes a glass of wine. Plenty of hard physical work, which was good. Years from planting to bottling, so no chance of moving on … he did like to see a job through. But Texas ? … did anyone grow vines in the Lone Star State? He'd have to investigate …

…one to keep in mind though …

A peanut farm? No … too boring … and they grow underground … what's that all about? Besides he'd already negotiated that lifetime supply.

Dance classes … now there was an intriguing idea, but it would require both of them to attend ( he wasn't going to dance with any other partner), but that would defeat the object … to keep him occupied while Teresa risked life and limb in the name of the law. And no commitment anyway; he could dip out on a whim. Something for the future though. Definitely. Together. In their retirement.

He could learn a sport and join a team, that would require commitment … NO .. a step too far for him this time. Not sporty. Not a team player.

The ideas kept on coming.

And they kept on disappointing.

Despite his best efforts, even the conman couldn't convince himself.

Particularly when he was hot and thirsty.

Frustrated and weary, Jane rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, feeling it tender with the stinging burn of sitting too long exposed to the unforgiving sun, which had risen to almost it's full height. He took a long breath and as he expelled it slowly his eyes swept the iconic landscape from horizon to horizon and came back down to settle on the little silver rectangle far below, sparkling incongruously amid the rustic earthy hues.

It, and he, did not belong here.

And he wasn't doing what he did best … using his intuition, going with his first impression, responding to his environment, reading the situation, the people . This was not his environment; the people (person) who mattered weren't here. No solution would be dropping into his lap while he sat here dreaming, far away from everything that was still important in his life.

He was wasting precious time … and that thing that was eating away at him still niggled his insides.

Made him sad and depressed.

Time for a change of scene.

Getting pulled over by the cops was not something Jane had anticipated, since he'd negotiated to include maintenance when he'd made his deal with Abbott there shouldn't be an issue with the Airstream.

As turned to retrieve his documents, his mind wandered.

The deal had turned out to be one he was still proud of and when he thought to count his blessings, he found he was sometimes even surprised by.

Hell, he should be proud of it; he'd been given everything he demanded.

Except his freedom.

The only slight wrinkle he hadn't been able to smooth out was his five year tie to the bureaucratic nightmare that was the feebs, with their cold hard floors and their cold hard hearts. He'd tried his best to soften their edges, but recently it was feeling more and more like a millstone around his neck, even with the obvious compensations; still, could he run and get away from all the threat of death and violence now, even if he wanted to?

His primary demand, the deal breaker, made it a moot question anyway.

Sacking off the mighty FBI permanently, without Lisbon, or rather with her still there?

It wasn't going to happen.

Looked like, for the time being, he was stuck with the millstone.

A hand thrust something in front of his face; the cop was satisfied with his paperwork.

So, with a busted taillight or some other technical infringement probably not the issue, and as he was sure that, even he wasn't capable of breaking the speed limit on these snaking but picturesque roads in a cumbersome old bus like his silver bucket, it was a little puzzling that he'd been stopped. Unless his concentration had wandered and he'd been weaving dangerously, which these days wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.

More curious still, was the fact that he wasn't in the least perturbed. In fact he was quite relieved; until the officer had him slammed against the Airstream's silvery bodywork and it occurred to him to ask what he was supposed to have done.

The warm rush that ran through him when he heard the word 'failure to appear' made it hard for him to restrain a giggle, though. In fact he'd never been more pleased to raise his hands for a man in uniform; and he'd done that many a time.

It was obvious who'd set the law on him.

With the image of the culprit's fierce little frown floating before his face and the ire in the rising pitch of her voice ringing in his ears, he let wide smile spread from ear to ear.

He was thrilled she could still surprise him … and what's more, it meant she wanted him back. If only to punish him with the tongue lashing he no doubt deserved and possibly a punch.

On second thoughts, probably not a punch, since the situation was far too serious for that.

He gave himself up with an undisguised sigh of relief and counted himself fortunate in one respect. When he'd turned out of the anonymous diner after another dreadful snack stop and onto whatever highway he was presently on, it had turned out to be in the direction of Texas … and that meant less time shackled like a criminal in the back of a squad car. Not his favourite place.

As it was, he couldn't help having a sneaking admiration for the devious machinations of his homesick subconscious. Not withstanding the fact that he still hadn't firmed up his plan of action any more than he had after a very late night mulling over Woody's prescription, and more time spent that morning, he was beginning to tire of apple pie, bad eggs, even worse tea and tasteless juke box music.

And of being alone.

He'd even begun to miss Woody.

His subconscious was wise. It was time to go home and face the music.

As the officer pushed roughly down on the top of his head to shove him into the car he made a note to consider the fact that he was using the word home with almost worrying frequency.

As he settled, Jane did consider.

And found that home was indeed a word he should start getting used to again.

With luck he might be going home.

Thanks for reading. Final chapter will not be for a few weeks as I'm off to France to see if my cottage has survived the winter.