This is the last chapter. I'm thinking about a sequel. Would that be a three-quel? I wouldn't own anything either way. Thanks for reading and reviewing - especially lisbon69, Lisbon4Ever, Jbon, lucyyh, Ukrainian-Cat, 24Mentalistlover, TrinityBlade, Country2776, and Streak of the Sun. You've been so encouraging-I couldn't ask for more!

18. TAKE US HOME

It had been a long day, which was odd since there really hadn't been much to it. They had been called out at mid-morning for a case. Once the coroner arrived and confirmed their theory that the death was a suicide, they had returned to the office to spend the time catching up on paperwork and filing. She'd sent everyone home early, telling them to keep their phones with them in case she needed to call them back.

They had solved the case of Tina Landry's murder and returned home from Bishop a month ago. Jane had been ordered to take medical leave, and today was his first day back. She was worn out with avoiding him. They actually avoided each other—all part of the dance to keep their relationship a secret.

It wasn't against the rules, but they both knew it would be better if it were just between the two of them for a while. A secret they protected from the glares—some disapproving, some merely curious—of the outside world until they felt they could keep it safe from the barrage of attention it was bound to receive once it was exposed.

She must be tired. Her thoughts were sounding like bad contemporary prose.

It was only four thirty. She was on her sixth coffee of the day . . . or was it her seventh? The endless brew cycles and the big mug made it all run together. It was bitter anyway. She should just pour it down the sink, but she'd already taken a drink of it and turned away to trudge back to her office.

She looked at his couch as she walked toward the bullpen. He wasn't there, and she felt an unreasonable anger rise up in her. For a month, she'd only seen him in the evenings anyway. Why should it matter that he wasn't on his couch at a time of day when she was used to not seeing him and knowing his exact location?

She knew what this was—something sweet and frightening at the same time. She tried to emotionally dig her heels in and fight this thing with Jane as it pulled her along to a place she found herself torn between wanting to be and wanting to avoid. It was a losing battle. She felt stupid for having such strong and—what felt like to her—such irrational feelings. Feelings like what she'd had today.

She was having to share him. She was so used to having his undivided attention that when he had been his usual work self around her today, she had felt deprived, as if he wasn't paying any attention to her at all. During the days of his leave, he was alone, waiting for her to come home. Last week he had begged her to let Will stay home from daycare with him, and she had given in only to come home and find them napping together in a tent Jane had made out of blankets, books and chairs from her kitchen. She had been so jealous, wishing she had been part of the campout too.

Had she ever been so needy, so clingy in her life? And when had she started thinking of Jane's visits to her house as his being "home"? It was her home and Will's—not Jane's. It wasn't sharing Jane that was bothering her. It was the uncontrollable desire to share herself. The coffee tasted even more bitter now.

She heard voices coming from inside her office and, recognizing them, turned to walk in their direction. She couldn't help the smile that wheedled its way onto her lips. Were there any more delicious sounds in the world? She rolled her eyes at herself. Could she be any more . . . squishy?

She leaned against the door frame and watched them, cradling her coffee in both hands just inches away from her lips. Jane was sitting in her chair (Startlingly enough, she wasn't bothered by that.), and he was holding Will safely in place sitting on her desk, facing him. Jane was talking to the boy, his mouth close to the little ear, his voice so low she couldn't hear what he was saying. Judging by Will's delighted grin and his soft babbling and squeals, she guessed it was some kind of sweet idiocy—something at which Jane excelled. The warmth and affection she felt swelled in her chest until it hurt with the desire for release.

As if he felt her eyes on him—or had he felt what she was feeling?—he turned to look at her, confused when he saw her shaking her head at him. He'd seen her do it before. Many times. On those occasions, he knew she was silently asking, "What am I going to do with you?"

But this was different. His gaze cleared with understanding as he realized she was asking the question about herself. What was she going to do about the way she felt about him?

"Come here."

She didn't hesitate, her feet moving toward him before he even got the second word out. She set her coffee cup on the desk out of Will's reach and stood next to Jane where he still sat in the chair. She raised her hand to the back of his head, fingertips barely touching his hair at the base of his skull. Careful to keep his hold on the baby, his arm nearest her snaked around her waist and drew her to him. He leaned his head into her chest and turned slightly until half of his face was buried against her. Her sigh answered his as she threaded her fingers into his hair and leaned down to place a light but lingering kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm glad we've finally found something you don't want to argue over."

She smiled into his hair and inhaled.

"Don't get used to it."

"I'm afraid I already am, my dear."

Good. It was subtle, but he was letting her know he was just as lost as she was. When he spoke again it vibrated into her.

"I want you to want me."

"I need you to need me."

He pulled back to look up at her, surprised that she would say something so telling about her feelings.

"I do need you."

"Oh, sorry. I thought we were reciting Cheap Trick lyrics."

He squeezed her and pinched her side. When she squirmed against him, his eyes darkened, and he buried his face into her again. She knew he was willing himself to stay composed. She felt guilty for his need to keep himself under control. She thought back to their ride back from the crime scene that day.

"Don't do that while I'm driving."

"Pull over then."

"Cho would pull over after us."

"Let him get his own woman."

"Jane" That was her "remember-who's-the-boss" tone. He didn't have to stop yet. There was still "If-you-don't-stop-that-right-now", "I've-got-a-gun" and "I-can-make-you-wanna-die". That is, if she didn't cut straight to "You're-riding-with-Rigsby".

They had barely spoken all morning. At the crime scene, he had been perfectly professional, barely looking at her. But every time they got in the car, he insisted on touching her. Now he had his hand on her thigh the way he had in the Ditch that day, acting like he was warning the other men off.

"Oh, no", he had assured her in no uncertain terms when she had brought it up two weeks after they got back, "that was no act, my dear."

They had been sitting in her apartment, lounging on each other on the couch while they talked, experimenting with all of the ways their hands fit together. Jane had gotten up to make tea, and on his return, pushed her up into a sitting position. He sat next to her then laid his arm across her lap and curved his hand around the outside of her thigh while he drank his tea and they both tried to concentrate on the dvd she'd started. His touch was always a bone-melting mix of loving and possessive. She had never trusted anyone enough to let them touch her like that.

But right now it was just distracting.

"Can you at least move your hand?"

He tried to oblige.

"Not like that!" She hissed at him and looked in her rearview mirror as if the agents riding in the car behind them could see and hear.

"Relax, woman." He reached up to massage the fingers of her right hand into relinquishing their death grip on the steering wheel. She surrendered her hand to his and sighed.

"You're delightfully Puritanical at times, you know that?"

She had winced slightly at his words.

She had been uneasy about certain areas of their relationship. He wanted to spend more time at her apartment. If he did, he may as well live there, and she didn't like the idea of shacking up. She wasn't a prude, but she was rather traditional.

As for other areas of their relationship . . . well, Grace had no idea how right she had been about her boss. She was cautious, and it may take forever. He left no room for doubt about how he felt about her and had told her a week ago that he loved her. It still amazed her how easy it had been for him to say it . . . and for her to hear it. Almost everything about the romantic part of their relationship had seemed easy—so natural in how it came together.

But she was still so unsure. She knew she possessed a great aptitude for screwing this up. Her lack of faith in herself—and something else she couldn't quite identify—had kept her from saying the words back to him. He had told her it was okay and that he understood. He hadn't said the words just to have her "regurgitate them back" (apparently his way with words having momentarily failed him), and searching his eyes, she'd found no lie in them. She was just afraid if she moved too fast she would mess up, and if she moved wrong, she'd drive him away, so she decided to play it safe and not move at all.

She wasn't backing out. She knew she loved him and was fast approaching the place where she would never willingly let him go. As it often happened, he seemed to know what she was thinking. Without moving his head, he murmured against her.

"I've said it's all right. What we have is good. I want all of you, Teresa, but for now I'm happy to take whatever you can give."

Tears came to her eyes. How did he do that?

"I do want you! I just . . . I keep feeling like I'm braking when I should be clutching."

"You speak, and it's like poetry."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'll make whatever I want of you. You're mine."

If any other man had said that to her, she would have taken his head off. She felt a heated tingle bloom in her chest and radiate out into her arms. He took in the sudden shift. He looked up at her again and saw the relaxed posture and lazy smile. Her fingers were making languid circles against his scalp.

She just needed time. They both did. He'd only taken his wedding ring off and put it away a week ago, right before he'd told her loved her. He wasn't in a position to try and push her for anything more. He had noticed she wasn't completely comfortable with him in her home. It bothered him more that he had to ask her to call him by his first name than it did that she hadn't said she loved him yet. Something was holding her back from giving him her whole self, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He had tried to talk to her about their relationship, knowing they needed to. Why was he the one that always initiated that? Sometimes he wondered which of them was the girl in this relationship. He turned his face further into her. Well, that answered that. If he was trying to regain control, this was not the position to be in. His hand had slid further down on the back of her body, and he stroked back and forth a couple of times before he raised it to the safer area at the small of her back.

"Teresa, I do want you, in every way. But I want you to be sure. I want everything to be right. Everything has been perfect—I don't want to mess it up now. And we both know I'm perfectly capable of it."

She knew it shouldn't surprise her at this point when she heard her own thoughts coming from his mouth, but it still did.

"Besides, I've waited for a few years, I can wait longer."

That surprised her.

"A few years? We've only been together a month, and even if you had feelings for me before that, I would've noticed something in a few years. I mean, you're good, but I would've picked up on something!"

"Maybe I didn't know I was waiting. Or maybe I'm not sure when it started. But think about it, Teresa. Did I every spring for donuts or dinner or even coffee when you weren't included?"

"I guess that means something. You are pretty cheap."

Ignoring the jibe, he continued.

"Did I ever make origami for anyone else? Drive anyone else around the countryside in my car? Drive anyone else around in Mash's car? Go to anyone else when I wanted to share something new? Did I try even once to ever please anyone else?"

"No", she answered thoughtfully.

"And did I argue or bicker with anyone else like I did with you?"

"Are you saying that was you being romantic?"

"I don't think we're wired like normal people. And it does sound like us."

She had to give him that.

"I think all the arguing and bickering and angst was because we weren't where we were supposed to be."

"And where was that?"

He looked at her with loving exasperation. "Here. Like this. And here like this is good. There's plenty of time."

And there it was . . . Time. They were closer to the end of the year he had promised to stay than the beginning. She wouldn't bring that up now. He would offer assurances, and she would believe him. But she knew how quickly things could change. How quickly people changed. Better to stay in the moment.

"Like this at home with some dinner would be better."

"You are a woman after my own heart."

He gave her one more one-armed hug around her middle and stood, lifting Will with him.

"You are a very good boy to wait so patiently on the grown-ups."

Will's face took on the oddest expression as he looked back at Jane. The usually smiling baby looked so serious, like he was earnestly contemplating something. He suddenly shook his head at Jane in a perfect imitation of his mother. Jane hugged him close and spoke low in his ear again.

"I wish you could talk, little man. Somehow I think you've already got everything figured out."

"What did you say?" She had gathered their things and headed toward the door, looking over her shoulder at him as she turned off the light.

"Nothing, love. We were just agreeing we want you to take us home."

END