Chapter 3 - Her, Him, Them.

He uses one finger to trace the spout of his tea lid. He's slightly nervous, though not as much as he thought he would be. He searches her face, looking for somewhere to start in her emerald eyes. He clears the thickness from his throat and tears his gaze from her, choosing to look at a particularly interesting spot of rust on one of the monkey bars just ahead. He can feel her gaze on his face, and he knows she understands that he is stalling. He also knows he cannot keep putting the start of the conversation off, and he did tell her he would tell her the honest truth. But since when did he, Patrick Jane, do anything so easily? He always has a witty, quick statement or word, but there is nothing witty or fast that he can say to her. There is nothing that he wants to rush, but he has always been able to find the words for any situation. Now, he sits on the bench in heavy silence, his mind whirling with possible avenues to open a dialog with her.

"Jane," she says softly, "you don't have to say anything if you don't want to talk about it."

He pulls his gaze to meet her eyes once again. Talk about it, she says. It did not strike him that she might already know his reasons for fleeing. This idea makes his stomach flop. "You know, don't you?" He is shocked that he hadn't been able to read that from her. He nods, though he isn't sure why he is doing it.

She nods in answer, and he loses her eyes once again, drawing his bluish-green irises to her clasped hands on her lap. "Yes," says Lisbon simply. He is thankful that she does not say more than that; she is giving him a chance to let it go. He thinks about this only for a moment before he decides it would be truly unfair to leave things unspoken between them—he's hurt her enough.

"Do you remember when you were a little girl, Teresa?" He looks at her now. "Do you remember that—that one special doll you had that you never wanted to let go?" He sees her nod uncertainly and continues. "You remember how it felt when you lost it for the first time? The—the feeling of pure helplessness and the world crumbling?" He shakes his head sorrowfully. "It's kind of like that, Teresa."

She understands his analogy perfectly. The doll to her is his wife and daughter to him. When he lost his wife and child, his world fell apart. She can remember the moment she lost her beloved doll her mother bought for her at the thrift store, and she remembers vividly the way she felt when she knew it wasn't coming back. She is also very aware that it was hard for her to let go; to acknowledge that she had to move on.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's too soon." She uncrosses her legs in anticipation of standing up, but he reaches a palm out to stop her movements.

"Stay," he pleads softly. "I am not finished, Teresa." He drops his hand and sighs. "That's human nature. To grieve and to keep that burning within us. I've—I've tried to reason with myself that the reason I haven't moved on yet is because it is a personal punishment." He clicks his tongue. "How is someone like you going to live with me when I can't even live with myself?"

She shakes her head quickly, relaxing beside him. "You keep beating yourself up over what happened, Jane," she answers, "but it has nothing to do with you. You didn't make the choices Red John did."

"It doesn't matter. What I am trying to say, Teresa, is realizing something that rewards me is almost unbearable. If—If I allow myself to love you, that is a reward. I don't deserve such luxuries, Teresa! I don't deserve that."

She says nothing to that. She knows anything she says to him will fall on deaf ears. Instead, she reaches out a hand slowly, careful to pull back if he hesitates. He does not, and she takes his hand into hers. She can see he is upset.

"But I want it," he says honestly. "I want to love you, but you don't reward bad behaviors. They teach you cops the same thing."

"They also teach us to have patience and empathy, Jane," she responds with a squeeze of his hand. "I have both."

He wants to tell her that patience isn't one of her strong suits, but he decides not to push that. "I don't even know if you feel the same. If you don't, I understand."

She laughs now. "Your sudden departure last night got me thinking," she says. "Mainly why I bother putting up with your crap."

He smiles a genuine smile. "And?"

"It seems like I put up with all your bull crap because there are feelings." She doesn't say she loves him, but only because she fears he may not want her to.

This is rejected when he says, "Feelings?" He smiles wider. "What kind of feelings?"

He is teasing her, and she thinks this is a good sign. "You won't freak out if I say it?" She curves her eyebrows.

The smile fades as quickly as it drew across his face. "No," he says, "but I don't want you to say it until you hear what I have to say."

"Okay."

"I—I can say the words. Words are so easy, Teresa," he says, "but I can't act on them. Not..." he trails off, "...not right now."

She looks at him for a long time, and he lets his face fall. He was afraid of this—she won't wait for him. He is wondering if telling her the truth was the proper call when she shocks him by laughing. He cocks his head at her and tries to figure out what has come over her.

"That explains why you took off in the middle of Tequila," Lisbon says with a chuckle. She becomes serious. "Well, Jane, I can't say I am going to wait all my life, either." As long as they were being honest…

"So, I figured," he replies. "You'll only have to wait until I find Red John. I don't even know if I will be ready then, but I am willing to try."

She squeezes his fingers. "Well, then how about this: if we are both in a place in the future where we are ready to give this a shot, we will. No rushing, no looking back on regrets. If it feels right for us, then we will revisit this conversation. How does that sound?"

He shrugs. "There may be things you don't like about me in that time." He did not elaborate on this point. "What then?"

"You can't get rid of me, Jane. I am going to be here no matter what. And if we decide in the future that we can give ourselves a shot, then I will be here then, too. I love you," she says for the first time. It tingles on her lips and she can feel the hum as it floats down her spine. "There. I said it. I love you."

He smiles so wide at her that she smiles in automatic response. "That sounds nice coming from you," he says gently.

"It hit me after you left. I was so selfish, Jane. I allowed you to remember your painful past just so I didn't have to lose you. For that I am sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't. I'm glad you did," he says sadly. "It was a reminder of who I am. What I am," he amends.

"The face on the wall doesn't make you who you are, Jane. That is not why I am sitting here with you now. You are generous and smart. You help people, Jane. You are doing good deeds for people."

"Selling them hope."

"But isn't selling people hope still doing them a service? I know you gave me hope, Jane." She lets go of his hand and sits back on the bench. "Before you came along, I wasn't sure. I've seen so much death and sadness."

"You still do."

She nods in agreement. "Of course, I do. The difference is you made me believe in good again. And, to be honest, I think that is what probably made me look at you in a different light. You have your methods, but at the end of the day, you see to giving people the chance to have closure. Isn't that what you want for yourself?"

"I hope to, one day," Jane says. "Maybe move on with my life. Be able to love you the way you deserve."

"And so I will wait," she answers. "I can't promise it will be forever, Jane, but I will wait for as long as I can. When and if you are ready to move on in your life and live again the way that makes you most happy, I'll be right here. Probably with more Tequila," she jokes and laughs.

He grins. "Deal," he declares.

"Deal," she counters. Suddenly, she is more conscious of herself and the heat filling her cheeks.

She feels him reach over and take her hand. She lifts her eyes to his and she can see he is abashed, too.

"It's nice to have something good to possibly look forward to," he says.

She nods. "Yes," she decides, "It is."

THE END.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this extended One shot.