AN: "A Lapse in Judgement" gave me more trouble than any other story I've written. Even now, I'm still not completely satisfied with the version that's posted under my profile. Rather than delete the whole story, I took the section I still liked (the first scene of Jane and Lisbon together after he shoots Hardy to save her) and rewrote everything else, and what was once a multichapter became condensed into a oneshot. So if you recognize the first part of this story, that's why. (It's not necessary to have read "A Lapse in Judgement" to understand what's going on here.) Hope you enjoy this AU of an AU!

Warnings: Language and adult situations, though nothing explicit.

Damned if We Do

"I should go," she says.

Jane tenses behind her, and his fingertips abruptly stop their movement across her bare hip. He shifts, his muscles moving against her own, before she hears him speak.

"What if you don't?"

The words come out a whisper, but his tone is sure.

Lisbon rolls over to face him, pulling the thin sheet over her chest.

"What exactly do you mean?" she asks. "Are we talking long term or short term here?"

When their eyes meet, Jane becomes hesitant. She watches as his fingers shake when he reaches out to brush them against her shoulder, the crook of her neck.

"Either," he says, his voice low. "Both."

"Jane," she responds immediately, her tone almost scolding. "We can't –"

"In case you didn't notice, Lisbon, we just did."

Lisbon shivers at the suggestion in his voice, at the way his fingers skim across her jaw.

"I almost died," Lisbon whispers. "And we panicked; we overreacted. It's understandable. To be expected, even."

She watches a beam of light, sneaking in through the slit in the hotel curtains, flash across his face as a car pulls out of the adjacent parking lot. His darkened eyes illuminate.

"Maybe we panicked. Maybe it was an overreaction. But…" he trails off.

"What?"

He leans down to kiss her. She lets him.

"I'm happy," he whispers against her lips. "It's such a foreign feeling to me that I almost couldn't name it. Don't you think we deserve to be happy every once in a while?"

"What are you suggesting? That whenever we have a bad day we just…"

Jane shakes his head. "I don't mean it like that," he says. "All I'm trying to say is that there are going to be days when we both need a human connection. Tonight, you needed to be held, and I needed to feel you, alive, against me. I'm offering you two arms to hold you, a warm bed when you need it."

He shifts again, and the sheet falls to his hip. Lisbon shivers.

She studies his face, taking in the lines at the corner of his eyes, the slope of his lips, the strength of his jaw. And she almost says yes.

Then she sighs.

"Tell me you're not tearing yourself apart on the inside because of what we've just done," Lisbon says, reaching for his hand. "I'm the first since your wife, right?"

"My wife is dead, Lisbon."

"So I am the first? And how are you dealing with that?"

Jane sighs and then rolls onto his back. Lisbon props herself up on an elbow to wait for his answer.

"Not well," he says eventually.

She nods. "I thought so."

Then he turns his head to look up at her. "My wife is dead," he repeats. "What I do now can't hurt her."

"But it can hurt you," says Lisbon. "And that's what I care about right now."

She swears she sees his eyes glisten, but she thinks it must be a trick of the nonexistent light.

"I'm tired of being alone." He looks determinedly up at the ceiling.

Her heart fractures. "You're not alone," she says immediately.

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean." Then he meets her gaze. "I'm not interested in a replacement, Lisbon. You should know that."

"I do."

"Then what's the problem?"

She doesn't answer, and he breathes in sharply.

"You regret this," he says, his voice shaky, like he can hardly bear to form the words, and she can hear the words he left unsaid.

You regret me.

It occurs to Lisbon that he's just cold read her wrong for the first time.

"No," says Lisbon emphatically. "No, Jane, no. You're wrong. It's just – we have to consider more than just your guilt here. We have to consider mine, too. I can't knowingly and in good conscience get involved with you – in any form, in any way. You're still traumatized by the deaths of your family. I'd be taking advantage of that."

"So what do you call tonight?"

"A lapse in judgement."

Jane lets out a sharp breath. "Unbelievable," he mutters.

"Jane, you can't possibly disagree. Us coming together – it's not healthy. For either of us."

"No, Lisbon, actually I would disagree. Because in case you haven't noticed, having a connection with other human beings keeps us sane. And it's not like you can argue with the science – human touch causes our bodies to release hormones that we need to survive."

She frowns at him. "What happened to the loner I adopted onto my team? The con artist who didn't need anyone or anything?"

"You changed him."

"I didn't," she argues. "You're hyped up on adrenaline and endorphins. Once those fade, you'll be able to see clearly." She sighs and softens her tone. "Look, Jane, I'm not saying I regret this. Because I don't. We clearly needed it. But it can't happen again."

He reaches up to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her down to touch his lips against hers. She moans. "You sure about that?" he asks quietly, humming with energy.

He strokes the side of her ribcage, and she is nearly lost.

But she is stronger than this, so she lays her hands on his chest and pushes him back gently yet forcefully.

"Stop," she whispers. "Please."

Jane stills.

She takes advantage of his momentary surprise. "We can't do this, Jane. Not again. You may not be concerned about your wellbeing, but I know you care about mine." She swallows, watching his eyes focus on her neck, and knows there's only one way she can win this argument.

Lisbon sighs.

"If we keep this up, he'll find out."

She doesn't speak his name. She doesn't have to.

Jane tenses and breathes in sharply, and Lisbon almost regrets playing the Red John card. Almost. But if it's what's needed to finally convince Jane that this is a bad idea, then she'd play it again. A thousand times over.

She watches Jane's eyes and can practically see his mind going through an infinite list of possible outcomes. Gauging by the darkness that suddenly clouds his face, she realizes he's caught up to her.

Jane removes his hands from her skin. "You're right," he whispers, looking away, and Lisbon pretends not to notice the teardrop that escapes from his eye and lands on her pillow. "I'm sorry. You're right." He rolls away, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor. He bows his head slightly, and she can see him let out a deep breath, his outline lit by a streetlight that makes his skin look pallid.

He reaches for his slacks and puts them on, then searches for his shirt. Lisbon sees it on the floor before he finds it, and she slips out of bed to grab it for him, pulling the sheet around her. "Here," she says, avoiding his eyes and blushing.

He accepts it but doesn't move to put it on. "I've got a spare in the Citroen," he says. "And after what we did to your blouse…" he trails off, and she wonders if his eyes are laughing. If only she could gather the courage to look. "Keep it," he finishes, opening up the shirt to her and gesturing for her to turn around.

She does so, dropping the sheet, then threading her arms through the sleeves. Jane's hands come around her sides to attend to the buttons in front, and she marvels at the thought that his hands are every bit as erotic putting her into clothes as they are taking her out of them.

Lisbon steps away, letting her hair hide her eyes as she leans over to grab her other articles of clothing.

"Give me your keys. I'll grab your overnight bag from the car," she says.

"I'll call you a cab," he says, tossing the keys to her.

She can't chance a look at him, so she hurries for the door.

Outside, the closed door at her back, a warm summer wind whips her hair, stirring up a whiff of Jane's cologne from his shirt. Lisbon forbids herself from thinking of what ifs and what might have beens.

She almost succeeds.

"Why can't I remember?"

He stands up and moves toward her. "It's interesting, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she says, turning her head away. "Yeah, it's interesting."

He makes a non-committal noise, and she turns her back on him completely.

She debates sending him away, as she'd done a few months ago. Since then, she can count on one hand the number of times he's smiled at her. His embrace today, his hand on her forehead – it was the first time they'd touched in a fortnight. They'd forgotten about being broken for a miraculous hour once several weeks ago, and when they'd parted she'd noticed more cracks in each of them. Could she withstand another?

No, she finally admits. She doesn't think she can.

So she sinks to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, feeling Jane step to her side in an instant. His hand is warm and steady on her back, and his quiet support is everything.

"I'm scared," she whispers for only him to hear, and she doesn't bother to wipe away the tears that spill over from the corners of her eyes.

"Me, too," he admits, and somehow this is strangely comforting.

She looks up at him, startled. The light slipping through the blinds paints stripes over his face.

"You are?"

"I haven't been unsuccessful at a hypnosis attempt since I was 18," he says.

"Maybe I'm immune?" she says, trying for levity and failing spectacularly.

Jane gives her a wry grin. "I took you under, and usually that's the hard part."

"Am I the exception?"

"I'm not sure."

Lisbon sits back, finally giving in to her aching muscles, and Jane takes a knee. She scrubs a hand over her face and breathes in.

"What if I did it?"

"You didn't." His response is so quick that she finally dares to meet his eyes. His expression is open, one of only a handful of times he's allowed her to read him. "You didn't kill him, Lisbon. I'm certain of it. I'd wager my life on it, in fact." He leans closer. "And you trust me, remember?"

"It's myself I don't trust," she says. She closes her eyes to try to get a handle on her racing pulse, breathing in deeply and breathing out just as slowly. "What if we can't prove I didn't do it? Jane, by now you know the system. You know it's not perfect."

He touches her knee. "Lisbon, look at me," he says. And when he asks like that, she can't not give him what he wants. She opens her eyes. "I'll take care of it," he says softly yet earnestly.

"What does that even mean?"

"I have money. Enough to live on indefinitely. And if that's not enough, I can easily make more."

She blinks. "You're offering to go on the run. To live underground. With me."

"It's not going to come to that, but yes, that's what I'm saying."

A cloud shifts outside, covering the sun, and the apartment goes dark. And with darkness comes clarity.

Lisbon stands and holds out a hand to Jane. He reaches up to her, his expression clearly perplexed, but Lisbon doesn't give him time to think. She pulls him to his feet then pulls him behind her. He follows her lead without question.

"Stay," says Lisbon as she collapses against his chest but before she's thought the words through. His arms hold her to him; she couldn't extricate herself even if she wanted to. His torso heaves, betraying their exertions, and she revels in it.

"Stay another hour. Drive me out of my mind again. Remind me of that one moment when everything seemed like it would be alright. If you hold me tight enough, maybe all this will just go away."

At her words, his arms constrict around her.

His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them, and she watches the storm behind them, transfixed. He swallows. "We agreed –"

"I know. I know what we said." She lets herself sink into him, lets him feel her dead weight. She reaches up to place a hand on his cheek, guiding his lips to hers. "But you were right that night," she says between kisses. "If we don't allow ourselves this, we'll be driven insane." She slips her tongue into his mouth. "Don't try to deny that you weren't slowly going mad these past few months. And on days like today…"

She tangles a leg around his, presses her hips against his.

"I need you," Lisbon finishes, moving Jane's lips with hers as she speaks.

Jane doesn't respond right away. She thinks he may be trying some of his biofeedback tricks, but based on the way his blood is pounding through his jugular under her fingers, she knows he's failing.

"I can't lose you," says Jane, and she knows he's thinking of Red John.

"I'm a cop. You're a mentalist. And we're greater than the sum of our parts. If we don't want him to know, he won't."

"I don't think it will be that easy."

"Of course it won't. Nothing with you ever is." She sighs in relief when she sees him crack a slight smile. "Jane, we're damned if we do and damned if we don't. And quite frankly, if we're both going to hell, I'd rather travel there together."

She kisses him again, letting her hair fall across his chest, delighting in the shiver that makes its way through his body.

"I'd give you anything you want, Lisbon. You already know that."

"So why are you stalling?"

"You know why."

She nods. "I do." She reaches behind her to grab one of his hands, and she intertwines their fingers over his head. "You trust me, remember?" she says, repeating his words from earlier that afternoon.

"Of course."

"Then trust me. Let go, Jane."

He sighs. "You're putting yourself in the crosshairs of this game," he warns her, but his words lack conviction, as though he's given in already.

"I was already in the crosshairs," Lisbon says. "Now we just get to have a bit more fun in the meantime."

Jane ceases to be a passive participant, flipping her over and grabbing her wrists, holding both of them over her head as he adjusts, straddling her. "Speaking of which," he says. "We should lay a few ground rules. You know, so I can blatantly ignore them later."

His tone is light, but Lisbon recognizes the seriousness of his request.

She nods. "We need to be careful. That means never the same place too many times in a row, and we can't stay together long."

"Agreed," says Jane. Then Lisbon feels his mouth on her breast. "What's off limits?"

"Headquarters," gasps Lisbon. "Or if we're on a case outside of Sacramento."

"Well, I'll have to get creative, then," says Jane against her skin. Her fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him held against her.

"And Jane," Lisbon says softly. Something in her tone makes him look up. "I know you don't really do...this." She swallows. "Casual sex," she clarifies. "But I can't – I can't call it anything else. I can't give you more."

We're not making love.

"I know," he says, and she wonders if he knows what she was thinking. "I'm not asking for more," he continues. "I don't expect more. I just want this. Just this."

Jane smiles sadly at her, and her heart constricts.

But then the moment passes, and Jane is giving her a mischievous grin. "Now, what was that you'd requested earlier?"

He gently pushes her legs apart.

She doesn't hesitate. "Drive me out of my mind. Again." She's unabashedly pleading with him.

"With pleasure."

High on endorphins – but mostly high on him – Lisbon ghosts a hand over Jane's chest, memorizing skin and sinew. His eyes are closed, but he's smiling, and Lisbon ignores the fact that she'll need to disappear in half an hour.

"You didn't answer my question," says Jane, eyes still closed, his voice echoing around the bland, bare motel room.

Some people might ask why you signed on with me in the first place.

"Most days, catching bad guys is enough," continues Jane. "But what about the other days?"

Lisbon's fingers still for a fraction of a second, then she resumes her exploration, tracing his sternum then collarbone. "Can't you just read it off me?" she says.

Jane's eyes finally open, the sea-green a stark contrast to the gray of the room.

"I tried," he says, turning his head so that their lips are millimeters apart. "I, uh – I can't. I'm having a hard time reading you now. You know...after."

Lisbon looks down, watching as his hand comes to cover her own on his chest. "Why?"

Jane gives a half-shrug. "I don't know for sure. The best that I can come up with is that I traded one form of intimacy for another."

"Mind for body?"

There's a twinkle in Jane's eyes. "Something like that," he says, voice low. He closes his eyes again. "But stop deflecting, Lisbon," he adds.

Lisbon shifts so that she's half lying on top of him, propping herself up with an arm on his chest.

"I kind of just...I just knew," she says. "Right from the beginning." She's not sure she can explain it more than that, and she's relieved when he doesn't ask her to. Instead, he rolls over slightly, pulling her flush against him and kissing her soundly. It's the most tender he's ever been with her, and it's intoxicating.

He pulls away enough to whisper, "So did I."

It's an unfamiliar hotel room but not an unfamiliar situation. A year ago, it had been her life on the line; today it was his. It's a pattern she's certain will repeat.

"What do you need?" she asks.

She can't quite make out his expression in the dark, but what she sees scares her, though she's not sure why. The alarm clock's glow casts everything in a red haze, a visual reminder of the case they'd been working on. The case that promises to take either or both of their lives.

Jane hesitates. He hasn't said a word since she cut him free from the plastic wrap. "I need you to take lead on this," he murmurs, so she steps forward, sliding his jacket off his shoulders. He doesn't move, doesn't respond, and Lisbon decides to change tactics.

She's removed his vest and dress shirt a fraction of a second later, getting the first genuine emotion out of him since she'd found him earlier. He's surprised and startled, but the expression on his face tells her this is good – this is what he needs.

She steps forward, forcing him to walk backward, and she forcefully pushes him backward. The mattress groans under his weight.

She eschews foreplay, shedding her clothes and the rest of his before crawling on top of him.

He moans.

He'd responded, as she'd known he would. But she couldn't have predicted exactly how enthusiastic that response would be.

"Admit it," says Lisbon, kissing him one last time and pulling away slightly. "You like it rough."

Jane takes a deep breath, still recovering. "You know very well how much I like your new…tactics."

"I do," confirms Lisbon, and she can almost forget about rushing into that darkened, dusty building expecting to find his body. "Now, let's say for round two you drop the gentleman façade for once. I showed you rough. Now you show me."

"Is that a challenge, Agent Lisbon?"

She arches an eyebrow, then arches into him. "An order."

Jane grins. "I love it when you get all authoritarian on me."

Lisbon knocks on the metal door, and the tinny sound echoes louder than she'd intended. When she doesn't get a response, she slides the door open, taking in the still-unfamiliar sight of Jane's new hiding place.

It's a moonless night in Sacramento, so he's lying in darkness save for the light pollution from the city streaming through the windows. He doesn't move when she enters, closing the door behind her, but she knows he's not sleeping.

She steps through the dust to make her way to his makeshift bed. She perches there, by his hip, heart pounding.

"You offered me two arms to hold me when I needed it," she whispers. "You have to know the offer goes both ways."

She knows he's just come from visiting the cemetery. Tonight is different than every other night she's gone in search of him, or that he's gone in search of her, and she tries to convey this in her tone. She's not offering sex. She's offering something far more intimate, and this terrifies her.

Jane takes a deep breath, and the shakiness of it tells her he's spent a great deal of the past few hours trying to pull himself together.

Lisbon reaches out tentatively, laying a hand over his, and his other hand immediately moves to sandwich hers between his. Emboldened but still scared, she says, "Scooch over." Her tone is light, but it's belied by the way her voice cracks on the first word.

To her surprise, he shifts, giving her several inches of the narrow mattress. It creaks when she moves, toeing off her shoes and lying down beside him. She's not exactly sure what to do from here, but apparently Jane has this covered – he folds himself into her arms, laying his head against her chest. Lisbon's heart almost stops.

Later, when he's finally surrendered to sleep, Lisbon studies his face, half-illuminated from the lights of the Sacramento skyline. He is beautiful, she realizes, even in spite of his sadness.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispers. "I know you don't believe it now, but…I'll keep reminding you until you finally do."

He shivers, and she reaches for the thin blanket at her side, tossing it over them both.

She closes her eyes.

They haven't returned to her home in over a year, choosing instead to take their chances on various motels. But after Jane's kidnapping – after nearly getting burned alive – she'd insisted that he sleep in a proper bed.

At least for a few hours.

So she heads home, knowing Jane will be following her. She's just lowering the blinds when she hears him open her unlocked door.

She gravitates toward him.

"You weren't followed?"

He looks exhausted, his normally impeccable hair sticking up in nearly every direction, his eyes more haunted than usual. Gone are the jokes and smiles from earlier this evening; pain remains.

"Not that I noticed."

She cuts the lights in case their profiles can be seen.

Then she steps to him, embracing him like she'd wanted to do since she'd gotten the call this morning. To her surprise, he leans into her a little, letting her take some of his weight.

"Come on," she says, grabbing his hand and guiding him across the room to the stairs. They climb slowly, and she knows his joints are protesting though he himself stays silent.

"How many times?" he whispers as they cross the threshold into her room. "How many times am I going to have to wonder if I'll ever see you again?"

She knows he's not expecting her to answer, so she doesn't. Instead, she begins removing his clothing, careful not to jostle him too much.

He instinctively recoils.

Lisbon rests a palm on his neck. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I won't hurt you."

He breathes again, and she directs him to sit on the bed, guiding his bruised muscles. She comes to stand between his legs, and for a long time, they just kiss.

Then, with a shaky hand, he reaches for her blouse, and together they undress her.

He's breathing heavier than she expected, looking nearly as nervous as he had been their first time together.

"I promise, I won't hurt you," says Lisbon again, and this time she helps him lay down.

"I know."

It is slow. It is precious and gentle and everything their previous encounters have not been.

And it is perfect.

He whispers the name of a motel on the outskirts of town in her ear and then disappears, sending her a look over his shoulder. She holds his gaze until the elevator doors close around him.

Lisbon leaves approximately seventeen minutes after he does. She considers briefly turning on her siren to break a few speeding laws, but she shakes her head at the ridiculous thought. She's keyed up, not thinking straight.

Having a bomb strapped to your chest will do that to a person.

The motel is a new one for them, and Lisbon is careful to take a roundabout route to lose any tails she may have. Reasonably sure that no one is following her, she parks near Jane's room.

She knocks once, and the door opens a fraction of a second later. She slips inside.

Jane has pushed her against the wall before the door is even closed, trembling hands everywhere all at once – her cheeks, her shoulders, her hips. His lips, however, stay fused to hers, and eventually Lisbon has to tilt her head back against the wall so she can breathe. Jane's lips move to her neck, and a shiver races down Lisbon's entire body.

Everything is hurried and heated and hazy, and before she knows it, their clothes have melted into a puddle on the floor.

Lisbon leans against the wall, shivering again from the agony of its coolness juxtaposed to Jane's warmth. His arms dip lower, picking her up and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist.

She trails a fingernail down his spine, and he lets go.

Both spent, he sets her down gently, pulling back and placing his hands on the wall on either side of her head. His head drops to her shoulder.

"Don't you ever do that again," Lisbon hisses, drawing his body impossibly closer.

She feels his expression shift against her skin.

"Thought you were into rough, but noted. No more sex against the wall."

She flicks his ear. "I meant disobeying a direct order."

"Ah," he says into her neck, with an exaggerated air of dawning comprehension. "That makes more sense. It seemed like you were into it."

"Jane," she sighs. "Be serious."

He looks up after a few seconds, open and terrified. He leans in slowly, still hesitating even after two years of their arrangement. Lisbon meets him halfway.

The desperation remains, but no longer are their kisses rough and demanding. Now, he kisses her reverently, like he is savoring every second, and it is more than overwhelming.

When he picks her up again, this time he moves toward the untouched bed, somehow managing to pull down the comforter before he lays her down between the sheets. He joins her, and she pulls the covers up over his back as he hovers over her.

"Promise me if something happens like that again, you'll leave when I order you to," she says, and he bows his head to hers.

"Imagine our positions were swapped. You were the consultant, I was the cop with the bomb strapped to my chest. Would you have disobeyed my orders?"

Green eyes shine through the dark, and Lisbon holds his gaze. "I hate it when you're right," she grumbles.

"Allow me to make it up to you?" He's grinning at her, and her pulse skyrockets, which he notices. "I'll take that as a yes," he says, and moves lower.

She pulls him back up. "Wait," she says, her tone more serious. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Jane's entire body tenses, and his eyes search her face. "You're calling this off," he whispers eventually.

It's an overreaction – one Lisbon has come to expect. Suddenly, Jane looks like the man from two years ago, heartbroken and obliterated when he'd thought she regretted him.

"What? No," she says quickly. "No, I'm not. God, Jane, we've already established that you're terrible at cold reading me after sex. Please stop freaking out."

He rolls over slightly, pulling her flush against him once more and burying his face between her breasts.

Lisbon sighs, wondering how exactly to say what she's thinking. Two years of sex with this man has not made it easier to converse with him.

Eventually she lets the words tumble out. "I saw the video you made. For the Flynn case."

He makes an unintelligible, noncommittal, "Hmmm."

She rests a hand at the nape of his neck. "I just…when I saw the first part of the video, I thought you wanted to try dating again, and I…I don't want what we have to prevent you from doing that."

Jane breathes out, the air from his lungs tickling Lisbon's skin.

"I guess this is a good conversation to be having," he agrees, lifting his head up. "I'd wanted to talk about it for several months, but I always talked myself out of asking." He brushes her bangs away from her eyes. "Look, Lisbon, there's a very slim chance I'll ever fix myself enough to be at the point where I could consider the possibility of dating," he says frankly. "I'm actually more concerned with the reverse side of this issue. Someday, and probably not all that long from now, I think you will be in a position where you'll want to date. You'll be healed enough where that will be a possibility for you. And whatever you and I have – this can't be standing in the way of you finding happiness with someone else. So those rules that we have…I think we should add one more."

Lisbon feels an unexpected sense of bereavement, and it takes her a couple seconds to realize what exactly it is she's mourning.

There's a very slim chance I'll ever fix myself, he'd said.

Had she been thinking her arrangement with Jane would lead to something? She hadn't admitted as much to herself, not in the two years they'd been "together". But she doesn't allow herself to consider the idea; how could she, seeing as he'd already confirmed it was hopeless?

"Like what?" Lisbon finally asks.

"I'm not good with sharing," Jane admits, wincing. "I know we never talked about being exclusive, and I have no right to be jealous, but that doesn't stop me, apparently."

"Are you talking about Mashburn?" Lisbon asks, putting two and two together.

His silence speaks louder than an answer ever could.

"I didn't sleep with Mashburn, you idiot," she says, running her hands over his back and then continuing down further. Jane looks like he's forgotten how to breathe. "I'm not overly fond of the idea of sleeping with two men at the same time."

"I guess we can rule out that threesome, then."

Lisbon snorts. "You are the only one I'm fucking, Jane. I'm hardwired for exclusivity, which I'm sure the caveman part of your brain will be thrilled to hear."

Jane begins to play with a strand of her hair. He's quiet for a long time, and just as Lisbon's becoming impatient, he finally speaks. "As I suspect you know, I'm similarly hardwired." His voice becomes lower. "Since what we have can't…can't become more than it is, you need to tell me if you find someone. We'll call this off so you can focus on them, okay?" His eyes become noticeably sadder as he looks at her, and she thinks he almost looks as though he's already saying goodbye.

"Okay," she whispers, and he nods, satisfied. "And you? You'll tell me if you find someone?"

"Of course," he says, his voice breaking.

Lisbon sighs. "Let's not worry about this now," she says, "seeing as there's nothing to worry about." She buries her heart – what's left of it anyway – and flashes Jane a weak smile. "You said something about making it up to me?"

He doesn't need to be asked twice.

"You know," says Jane, "we could have arranged a conjugal visit."

Lisbon slaps his shoulder with her good arm. "In your dreams, Jane."

"Oh, you were," he says, grinning.

She rolls her eyes. "You would have needed to demonstrate good behavior. And that is outside the realm of possibility for you."

He props himself up on his elbow, peering down at her. "How are you doing? Really?"

She shrugs, then winces at the movement. "I've been better," she says honestly. "It'll take some time for everything to heal. I was lucky no major nerves were hit."

Jane leans down, pressing his lips against her inflamed skin. Lisbon's breath hitches. She reaches up with her good arm to run her fingers through his hair, still almost in awe that this is normal.

"If you kill Red John when we catch him for real," Lisbon whispers, "you're not going to get the same jury. They'll know you shot and killed someone before who wasn't really him. The chances of you getting off again are – "

"Nonexistent," Jane finishes. "I'm aware."

"I won't be able to get you out," Lisbon says, her voice still low. "If they prove it was premeditated, you could be sentenced to death."

He nods. "I know."

"You're still going to kill him."

"I have to."

She rests her head on his chest. "I know."

He doesn't remember the events of his fugue state. She thinks it's better this way.

She closes the door behind her, leaving them in darkness in the hallway. She hears a rustle of clothing and knows he's wiping his eyes. "Let's get a motel room," Lisbon suggests. "We need to sleep – it's not safe for us to drive back tonight."

"We can stay in the guesthouse," says Jane, his voice hoarse and stuffy. "I have a housekeeper tidy things up every month."

"You sure?" asks Lisbon.

"Of course," he says, moving down the hall.

She grabs her overnight bag from the car, and he leads her through the gardens and the moonlight, and she knows this home would have been magical once upon a time. The waves break in the distance, sparkling and roaring, and Lisbon blinks rapidly.

She wishes Jane had gotten his happily ever after.

Jane locks the door to the guesthouse behind them and flips on the lights. Ten years ago, the room would have been chic; now the colors and furniture look slightly out of date.

"Bathroom's right there," Jane says, gesturing to their left.

When she emerges five minutes later, clad in her oversized hockey jersey, she finds Jane sitting on one side of the bed, head held in his heads, elbows on his thighs. He's opened the blinds across from him, revealing a glass sliding door that overlooks the ocean, and turned off the lights.

She steps to him tentatively, coming to stand directly in front of him.

He pulls her closer, and she cradles his head against her body. She wonders what it feels like, getting the worst news of your life not just once but twice. How could fate be so cruel?

"It wasn't your fault," she says. She's not surprised when he doesn't respond immediately.

Eventually though, he murmurs, "Lisbon…could you…?"

He doesn't need to finish the thought.

"Yeah," she says, taking his coat and vest and hanging them up, then pulling down a corner of the sheets while he takes off his shoes. She slides in after him, and they fit together, the two missing pieces that complete a puzzle.

Lisbon opens the door just so she can slam it in his face.

She keeps it locked, though she knows this won't do anything to deter him, and sure enough, forty seconds later a disheveled Patrick Jane is standing before her in her living room. She just stares at him from her place on the couch, unimpressed. He's going to need to work for this.

As it turns out, he has a better strategy.

"Let me have it," he says, his palms facing forward, inviting the storm.

And storm she does.

With no sacred building to hold her back, she yells, she curses, she screams, she paces, and once, she even feels as though she's about to slap him, though she changes her mind at the last second. He weathers it all, looking unaffected.

That is, until she starts to cry.

Just as the first tears begin to flood, Jane gathers her in his arms, apologizing over and over again, kissing her temple, rubbing her back.

Eventually, he runs out of things to apologize for, and she runs out of tears, so he just holds her, rocking them back and forth. Lisbon murmurs against his skin. "Just for tonight," she says, "can we pretend this never happened? I'll go back to hating your guts in the morning, but tonight…I just want to forget."

He's happy to oblige her.

Everything is broken between them. When they sleep together, they don't linger. Sometimes they don't exchange a word.

I think you do it to be close to Teresa Lisbon. I think you're a little bit in love with her.

I do it to pass the time.

She'd been right to forbid herself from imagining a future with him. He'll only bring her heartbreak, and she's experienced quite enough of that lately.

And yet, she keeps going back for more.

He crawls into her bed at three in the morning the night after Lorelei is murdered.

"You were right," he whispers, and she struggles with the buttons on his shirt in her half-asleep state. He presses his hips against hers, and that speeds the process considerably. "She was playing me, and I was blind."

His movements cause her jersey to ride up over her hips, and his skin is caustic against hers. "Did you sleep with her again?" Lisbon asks, terrified of the answer.

He pulls the jersey over her head. "No," he says.

"Thank god," says Lisbon, reaching for him, and they don't speak again for a long time.

"Were you in love with her?" asks Lisbon, later. His arm is splayed protectively over her abdomen, his chest to her back, their legs entangled.

"She's not capable of love," says Jane in her ear, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her skin.

Lisbon huffs. "That's not what I asked."

Jane doesn't hesitate. "I'm confused about what I felt for her, but it wasn't love," he says. "I've felt love so rarely in my life that I'm positive when I do feel it."

He leaves her an opening, but she can't bring herself to pursue it. She's too weak, too tired of running and fighting. She just wants to enjoy the calm for a little while, at least before the next storm hits.

Jane strokes the skin on her hip. "Lisbon," he says tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"We're…we're getting close."

For a wild second, she thinks he's talking about the two of them, but then she realizes this can't be what he means. "To catching Red John? Yeah."

He nods. "You told me that the jury will convict me. They'll know it was premeditated."

"They will."

"So I'm going to run."

Lisbon fights the urge to turn toward him. Instead, she pulls his arm tighter around her. "That will be…easiest." She closes her eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know you worry. Because I want you to know that I have no intention of making you sit through another trial or, god forbid, waiting as I sit on death row. And…because if you ever decide you're done chasing monsters in the dark, I…want you to join me."

Breathing suddenly becomes difficult. "If I told you now that I wanted to come with…"

"I'd arrange for both of us to leave together. As soon as it's done."

"And if I decide later…"

"Then I'll arrange to get you safely to me when the time comes." He grabs her fingers and kisses her palm. "I don't need an answer tonight."

"Okay," says Lisbon. "But for now, promise me this – whatever I decide, don't leave without a proper goodbye. Please?"

He kisses her neck.

"Anything for you, Lisbon."

The sun bleeds through the windows, streaming across them though growing dimmer with every passing moment. Jane reaches over to pull the blanket up around Lisbon's shoulder, and he brushes her hair behind her shoulder. He studies her carefully, and she plays with his left hand, examining the freckles and scars.

"Are you going to tell me how you hurt your wrist?" he murmurs, tapping on the cast.

"I did tell you," says Lisbon.

His gaze is scrutinizing, so she avoids it. But Jane is a master at wheedling out information, especially from her, and eventually she relents.

"It was dumb." She sighs. "I was home. I thought I heard someone downstairs just before dawn. I went to look – then I missed a step." She shivers. "I've been a little paranoid lately."

"You should have called me."

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to."

Jane rolls his eyes and closes the distance between them, kissing her softly. "I know I said and did some inanely stupid things over the past several months. I should have realized that even your steel strength would have been tested." He pulls back. "What's wrong?" he asks.

She hesitates before saying, "Barlow knew about us."

"He didn't. He said you were lying in bed, thinking of me. If he'd known about us, he would have said you were in my bed. He's not a real psychic, Lisbon – when he asked you what you were doing the night before last, your eyes flicked over to me. He was just cold reading you, and he was only half right."

"Red John – "

"Isn't psychic either. There's an explanation for how he knew about Eileen; we just haven't found it yet."

"If he can find out about your happy memory, he can find out about us."

"If he knew about us, he'd have used it to his advantage by now."

Lisbon sighs, curling into him. "If that's supposed to be reassuring…"

Jane just holds her tighter.

"You're more clingy than usual tonight."

"Can you blame me?" The words tickle her neck.

"No," she sighs. "Not really." She tilts her head back slightly, searching for his lips. She doesn't have to wait long.

"I thought you were dead," he whispers, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice.

"I'll be more careful from here on out. I promise." She rolls onto her back, face still tilted toward his, and he rests his forehead against hers.

Several minutes pass, and their breaths intermingle, a harmony and a melody. Then Jane lifts her chin with a finger, eyes roving over her face, and she knows he's remembering Red John's mark on her skin.

"I know you haven't decided," he says, his voice barely there. "And you don't need to, not yet. But, uh, we're approaching the end of the line. I'm not sure how much time is left. So when the time comes, if you decide to meet me…I'll be at our first motel. At sunset or sunrise, whichever is sooner. If the sun has fully sunk or fully risen and you don't show, I'll know your answer."

She can't find the words to respond, so she just nods, closing her eyes and letting her tears drip down onto his neck.

"You knew this day was coming. It's here," he says emphatically.

Her next words are instinctual. "Let me come with you," she says.

He's not willing to even consider her request. "No. I don't want you involved."

She's incredulous. "Involved? I am involved!"

"Not anymore." He says this with such finality that she knows. This is it. This is the goodbye he promised her.

Several seconds pass, and his gaze flickers to her lips and then back to her eyes. Lisbon shivers.

"I'm going to need to borrow your gun."

"My gun?"

"Yes, your gun. I'm not going to use it. It's just a prop. Teresa, please, trust me. Just trust me."

And she does. More than anyone else in the world. Despite all the reasons she shouldn't.

She looks around then hands it to him, and he tucks it away. "Thank you," he says.

But he doesn't leave. She knows he's rushed for time, but he's motionless.

"Jane?"

He steps toward her, placing a hand on her cheek and another at her waist. His lips cover hers, and all the colors of the day drain away. It's just him. Just him, just her, and the few seconds they have left.

He pulls back, grabs her hand, and places a last kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"I love you," he says, pulling away and beginning to run, and Lisbon can only stare, shell-shocked, her fingers curling around a small metal band.

Which, of course, is precisely the reason why he'd left it.

Lisbon leaves the keys to her car and condo with Cho, who tells her he'll take care of everything. She hugs him and promises to return.

She's running late, and public transportation doesn't speed up the process. She taps her toes impatiently, counting down the number of bus stops until she arrives.

The stop is roughly three blocks from the motel, and by the time they pull up, the sun has fully sunk. Lisbon sprints, hiking her bag up further on her shoulder.

Her hair has tumbled loose by the time her boots hit the blacktop of the motel parking lot, and she looks around, desperate.

No.

She races to the room where they'd spent their first night together, her heart pounding against her ribcage, and nearly breaks when the open blinds reveal it's empty. Stopping short, Lisbon drops her bag on the sidewalk, running a hand through her hair and trying to remember how to breathe.

"Lisbon?"

She turns right into Jane's arms, spilling her tears on his jacket. His hand cradles the back of her head, and she crushes him to her with every bit of strength she has left.

"You're here." His tone is exactly the same as it had been all those years ago – disbelieving, awed, reverent.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't," says Lisbon, shaking.

Jane is crying, his chest heaving, and she feels him struggle to compose himself.

"We should go," he says finally.

She nods, he grabs her bag and her hand, and together they disappear into the night.