Title: Black Rock Bound

Author: Avelynn Tame/ficcingwitch

Disclaimer: It pains me to say it, but I don't own anything to do with The Mentalist. If I did, I'd ensure that Lisbon had plenty more kickass moments, not to mention hot love interests.

Summary: Walter Mashburn has a knack for getting himself in trouble. Luckily for him, Teresa Lisbon happens to have a knack for saving the day. So when an enforced period of exile starts to drive him crazy, which of his former lovers is called upon to deal with him? That's right – the one with the gun.

Author's Notes: It's the last chapter already! Yes, I lack the ability to write extremely long fics, which is a shame, because Lisbon and Mashburn are so much fun to play with. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing until now – I hope you enjoy this last instalment. Of course, I can't finish without giving special acknowledgement to my TM family: TL, GQ and RSS. I love you guys so much.

Happy reading!

The house looked quiet and still from the outside.

She didn't think about that.

She wanted to go crashing through the front door, raising all kinds of hell, whatever was necessary to send this bastard running as fast as he could in the other direction. That was her instinct as a person – as someone who cared about Walter Mashburn.

Her instinct as a cop said – shut up. Be quiet. Be stealthy. And maybe, this way, you catch the bastard and everybody's better off.

He hadn't locked the front door; her relief was tainted by faint anger that he had, once again, disregarded his own safety. Guilt added itself neatly to the mix – she had left the sliding doors open. Perhaps, if she had thought to close them, she wouldn't be in this situation.

She pulled the door closed softly behind her, and listened carefully for sounds within the house.

At first, nothing. It was as quiet as it had seemed outside. She was on the verge of feeling stupid for overreacting, and then…

A grunt.

Moments later, the sound of a muffled, angry voice. A man's voice – but not Walter's.

Shit.

She crept along the hallway, gun in hand, her steps light even in her boots.

She heard the voice again – not clearly enough to distinguish the words, but loud enough to localise it to the living room.

Too late, she realised that she should have called someone – Heckman, Cho, the Fresno office, anybody. But she had been so quick to rush back…

Weighing up the risks in her mind, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Cho would be the one; he would know exactly what to do. Never mind that he was hours away – if anybody could handle any crisis, it would be Cho. She'd known that on her first day at the CBI.

She speed-dialled his number, listened to it ring until it connected, and left the phone on the table in the hall as she approached the living room door.

Whoever this guy was, he was still talking – at a lower volume now, but she could still hear the fury in his voice. The fact that he was talking at all suggested that Walter was still alive – and hopefully still conscious – but she'd met enough lunatics in the past to know that nothing could be guaranteed.

There was another grunt – it sounded painful. It sounded like Walter.

She moved into position outside the door. Stealth was no longer an option at this point – the door was closed, and she knew from experience that it had a hell of a squeak when it was opened. She held her gun level, her finger aligned with the barrel and ready to curl at a moment's notice.

Hand on the door handle, she waited for the right moment. Without a view into the room, it was impossible to time it perfectly. She had no way of knowing what – or who – she would find. For all she knew, there could be half a dozen people in there. They might be armed with machine guns, or pepper spray. She had no way of knowing, and no time to find out.

Her best hope was to wait for a sound that indicated that something was happening – that whoever was inside might, just for a moment, be distracted.

When that moment came, she was nearly driven to distraction herself. She'd never heard Walter Mashburn make a noise like that – a tortured howl of pain and misery – and she hoped she never would again.

She slammed the door open and yelled, "Stop what you're doing, you son of a bitch! Hands in the air!"

The first thing she saw was Walter huddled into the corner of the room, apparently trying to make himself appear as small as possible.

The second thing she saw was a tall, thin figure standing next to the fireplace with one foot in the middle of a pile of debris. She saw the glimmer of shiny brass… and recognised it as Walter's mill engine.

Apparently, that explained the unearthly noise he'd just made. She made a note to kick his ass for that later.

The tall figure, on closer inspection, turned out to be nothing more than a boy.

A teenager, to be precise – Lisbon placed him at sixteen or seventeen, perhaps eighteen at the most. He had cropped blond hair and he was staring at her – and her gun – with horror. She noted his black gloves… and the switchblade in his right hand.

It was difficult to reconcile the boy's apparent intentions with the fact that he had clearly frozen with fear. "Drop the knife," she commanded.

He didn't move.

She levelled the gun at his head. "Drop it, you little –"

It bounced off the marble hearth with a metallic clatter. "Good," she said smoothly. "Now put your hands in the air – that's it, high above your head – and step away."

He was almost robotic as he followed her instructions, but she didn't let her guard down for one second. He might have a youthful face and wide, terrified eyes, but that didn't mean a damn thing. She'd met some fairly sweet-looking murderers in the past, after all.

Without taking her eyes off the kid, she addressed Walter. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah." His voice was at a noticeably higher pitch than usual. "Teresa Lisbon, meet my 'concerned acquaintance'. He's a really charming young man."

"Shut up!" the kid spat suddenly, his lip curled into a vicious sneer. "Just shut up, you self-righteous bastard!"

"Pipe down, both of you," she ordered. "Here's what's going to happen – everybody's going to stay calm. Nobody is going to get hurt. So let's all take a nice, deep breath, and relax."

She watched the boy watching her. She saw him unconsciously mimic her as she followed her own advice – long slow inhale and exhale, and repeat. If only Patrick Jane could see her now, she thought with some amusement. Jane thought he was the only one with any sway over dangerous criminals, but they didn't call her the 'crazy whisperer' just because he was on her team.

"What's your name?" she asked the boy, when he looked a little calmer.

"What's it to you?" he muttered sullenly. "You're one of his bodyguards, right? What do you care about my name or anything else?"

One-handed, she removed her badge from her jacket pocket and showed it to him. "I'm a cop. Gonna need your name for my paperwork after I arrest you."

He snorted. "Yeah, that's right – arrest me. He's destroyed hundreds of lives, but sure – arrest me."

She continued to stare at him, her eyes like stone.

"It's Liam," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Liam Randall-Hodge."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Walter sit up a little straighter. "Keith's boy?" he asked softly. "I thought you were younger –"

"Oh, please, like you care." Liam turned to look at Walter. "Like I'm somebody to you – that's a load of bullshit. Life's like a game, right? And you just push around your little pieces and laugh about it." He shook his head and glanced at Lisbon, a glimmer of nervousness returning to his eyes. "You're really wasting your time protecting a guy like this? Do you even know what he does?"

Inhale, exhale. "Why don't you tell me?"

"People like him, they're different, right? Rich people, I mean." He closed his eyes briefly, and Lisbon had the sense that he was half-talking to himself. "Like, they can buy and sell whole companies in hours, and then change their minds, and turn people's lives upside down, and it doesn't even matter." He threw a glare at Walter. "My dad met you. He said you were a good guy – you really listened to him. And then one day – bang, the company's changing hands. He was all sorry for you, thought it was, like, a hostile takeover or whatever." His eyes filled with hatred. "But it was a bet, wasn't it?"

Walter said nothing.

"You –" Liam's voice wavered a little. "You and some other rich asshole made a stupid bet – and AV-Tech was the wager, right? But you lost. And overnight, my dad's whole life changed. Did you even know he got fired? He was one of the first to go – they decided to downscale, and hey, it didn't matter that he'd been working for AV-Tech before it even was AV-Tech – no, why would they care about that?"

"Liam –"

"You shut up!" He sounded almost hysterical. "Just shut up! Because of you, everything has changed. Don't pretend like you regret it or something."

Except Walter did regret it – she could already tell. Too bad Liam wouldn't believe her no matter what she said.

He was continuing, "… what kind of person does that? You used a whole company as a wager. What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you make such a stupid decision?"

The question sounded rhetorical, so she was surprised to hear Walter respond. "Because I thought I would win." His voice was strained and quiet. "I thought – I didn't realise that Grossman had been making deals behind my back. We bet on the outcome of a multinational negotiation process – but he already knew what that outcome was. I didn't. I lost because… I played it honestly." He snorted. "How's that for irony? I would never – ever – have put AV-Tech on the table if I'd known what Grossman was up to."

Liam shrugged. "That supposed to make me feel better? Make me feel sorry for you?" His mouth twisted into a sneer. "I want you to suffer, you asshole – everything you've done to my family, I want you to have it a hundred times worse."

He moved quicker than she expected.

One moment he was in front of her, his hands in the air, spewing venom. The next, his hand flew for the back pocket of his jeans, and he was lunging at Walter.

She didn't really think about it – just moved.

She collided with Liam halfway across his path towards Walter. They hit the ground with some force, and it nearly knocked the wind out of her. He started flailing and kicking beneath her; she pressed all of her weight down against him, manoeuvring her body to get a better grip.

She felt a stinging sensation in her upper arm, and glanced down to see a neat incision through her jacket and bright red blood soaking through the fabric.

Spurred on by the reminder that he was still carrying a weapon, she grasped his arm and slammed it as hard as she could against the marble hearth.

He yelped, his fingers springing open, and the knife skittered across the hearth to join its larger cousin some distance away.

He still wriggled furiously; she jammed her knee into his back and slipped an arm loosely around the front of his neck, grabbing his shirt collar with her free hand. She bent the arm that was hooked in front of his neck, keeping some space between his throat and her elbow. "Listen, kid," she grunted into his ear, "I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't stop thrashing around, I'll put you in a chokehold. You know what that is, right? So just calm down, okay?"

"You… bitch…" he rasped, and clawed at her arm.

"Hey!" Walter was suddenly in her line of sight, moving to squat in front of Liam and grab his arms firmly. "Watch your mouth!"

She met Walter's eyes briefly, and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Thanks."

He was breathing fast, his eyes bright with exhilaration, but she could tell from the slight trembling in his arms that he'd hit the other side of the adrenaline rush. Any second now, he was going to feel weak and weary, and she hoped –

The front door slammed open.

Her first thought was that an accomplice had just burst into the house, and that this whole situation was about to get much worse. But the familiar co-ordinated rhythm of heavy, sensible boots against the floor dragged an audible sigh of relief from her throat.

"CBI!" she heard someone boom.

"In here!" she yelled. Beneath her, Liam sagged, all resistance gone.

The four agents who performed a co-ordinated – practically balletic – entry into the room were totally unfamiliar to her, but she was no less glad to see them.

"This is your guy," she said, a little breathless, gesturing awkwardly at the boy she was pinning to the floor. "I'm Agent Lisbon. And this is –"

"Walter Mashburn, I presume," said the senior agent – short and stocky with mousy brown hair and a jaw like chiselled marble – his eyes betraying his own gratitude and relief as he lowered his gun. "You pressed your panic button?"

Her eyes darted between the agent and Walter.

"Panic button?" she repeated sharply. "You had a panic button?"

Nearly three hours later, Liam had been read his rights and dragged off to the Fresno office. Walter had been through his story several times and had at last surrendered himself to the paramedics for a laceration she'd been unaware of. He'd shown it to her with pride – it was on his right side, just at the line of his ribcage. "He jammed the knife against me as I came back inside – I didn't even realise he'd cut me until just before." He grinned at her. "That means I have a high pain threshold, right?"

She glared at him from her perch on a small, sturdy side-table. "If you think I'm going to dispense praise or sympathy, you can think again – how could you not tell me you had a panic button?"

He sighed. "Come on, Teresa – I mean, a panic button? Like I don't feel emasculated enough already."

"Emasculated? I was worrying about you being all by yourself with no help, and you're thinking of your ego?"

"I'm sorry," he said, with fond exasperation. "In the future, I promise I will tell you about any and all panic buttons I possess."

"Thank you," she sniped. "I feel so much better."

As if the house wasn't already crawling with enough CBI agents, Heckman and his boys arrived – and they'd brought her own team with them.

"Is anyone left in Sacramento?" she wondered aloud as they made themselves comfortable in Walter's living room. "You guys really didn't need –"

"We wanted to, boss," said Van Pelt urgently. "Really."

"Interesting seminar you're attending," said Jane flatly. "Good accommodation, too."

She rolled her eyes. "Pipe down, Jane. Cho – did you get my call?"

"Yeah, boss." He nodded. "Van Pelt was tracing it when Heckman came to get us." He cast a sharp look at the man. "Would have been good to be in the loop earlier, you know?"

Lisbon scowled at Heckman. "Didn't I ask you to explain the situation?"

Heckman raised his hands defensively. "And yeah, I was going to fill him in this morning. But – a lot of stuff happened." He glanced at her, contrite. "We were following the wrong guy, Lisbon. This whole time, we were looking at Keith Randall-Hodge – you know, this kid's dad? Figured he had a hell of a motive, not to mention the skills. So we've been following him everywhere – I mean literally, everywhere. Stan has been this guy's pee-buddy at his new job for the last three days. But this morning, the guys watching his house said, 'no, he's been home all night, but thought you might want to know that his son sneaked out and hasn't come back yet'."

A paramedic plucked nervously at Lisbon's jacket; she grimaced and removed it, keeping her gaze fixed on Heckman. "Let me guess – the kid's some kind of genius?"

"I'll say." Heckman propped his feet up on the coffee table, ignoring Walter's grunt of dissatisfaction. "He was supposed to be starting college early, full scholarship, the works. I mean, he didn't lose the scholarship or anything, but financially his family were thinking it'd be better if he just started work. Guess it pushed him over the edge."

She sneaked a casual peek at Walter – he looked steeped in guilt and remorse. Despite what she'd said about sympathy, she still wanted to go over there and…

And what?

Re-directing her thoughts, she said, "So – what, you guys hijacked a chopper? How'd you get here so fast?"

"Two choppers," Heckman agreed. "Sac-PD were in the mood to be kind, I guess. But the Fresno office is lending us cars to drive back, so when you're ready…"

"Yeah, that's –" She sucked in a sharp breath as pain flared in her upper arm. The paramedic was cleaning it – she realised it was a little deeper than she'd expected. "That won't need stitches, right?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Walter push himself abruptly to his feet and move swiftly in her direction.

"No, just some tape." The paramedic, a freckly young man with a wide-eyed, nervous gaze, seemed to be too intimidated to look her directly in the eye. "It's stopped bleeding, and I've cleaned it. But you should get it looked at again in a couple of days at your ER."

Walter insinuated himself into her personal space, leaning close to inspect the short gash. "Are you sure it doesn't need stitches?" he wanted to know, his worry undisguised. "It looks nasty."

She smacked him in the chest. "So does yours, but I didn't hear you asking to have it sewn up."

His eyes were dark and intense as he stared down at her. "I got off lightly." She heard a strained quality to his voice. "I didn't tackle a guy with a knife."

"Everybody is alive, everybody is fine." She'd said the same words shortly after Liam had been led away in handcuffs. She began to wonder if he was actually listening to her.

To her dismay, Walter wandered off; Heckman leaned forward. "So how'd you know to come back, Lisbon?"

"Ugh, I should have thought of it sooner." She made a quick explanation of the sliding doors, half-expecting Heckman or someone else to criticise her stupidity in leaving them open. But no-one even mentioned it, which did not particularly make her feel better.

"The guy's an athlete," Heckman was muttering to himself. "On a bunch of teams, you know. I bet he scaled the building and came over the roof, the little bastard…"

"Teresa." Walter had returned, and he was holding the hardwood base on which the mill engine had been partially mounted. A few of the fixings remained attached, but the flywheel and the assembled piston were in pieces on the floor. "Did you see what he did?"

He looked so forlorn. She remembered his endless enthusiasm for putting it together, his determination that they would get it done, and his disappointment when she'd pointed out his growing exhaustion. "It'll still be here in the morning," she'd said. She almost wished she'd stayed up to finish it, although perhaps that would have made it all the more upsetting when Liam crushed it so brutally.

She reached out and gently tugged the base from his hands, her fingers momentarily tangling with his. "I'm sure it can be salvaged. The store was selling these pieces separately as accessories – we can go pick some up if we need to."

The pleased look he gave her in response seemed to mask a glimmer of something else – some deeper satisfaction that sent an odd thrill through every nerve in her body.

"Great," said Heckman. "So – you guys are ready to go?"

Walter was still looking at her, scrutinising her face carefully. "No," he replied firmly. "I need some time to pack my stuff together."

She sensed Heckman looking between the two of them, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from Walter.

"O-kay," said Heckman. "Well, we can wait –"

"No," she spoke up. "It's fine, I'll stay and help Walter pack. If you guys can sort out the tire on my car –"

"Done and dusted," Rigsby announced proudly. "It's as good as new, boss."

She grinned briefly at him. "Thanks, Rigsby. Well, since that's sorted out, I guess you guys don't need to stay. I'll drive Walter back when we're done here."

Even as she spoke the words, her heart was pounding, her own voice echoing in her head: 'when we're done here… when we're done here…'

Done doing what, exactly?

"Good to see you again, Walter," Jane was saying, as the agents were getting ready to leave. "Shame about the circumstances, but…" his eyes darted to Lisbon. "Well, I'm sure you'll live."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes at him as he turned to look at her, his face carefully inscrutable. "You know, Lisbon, I never really bought that 'seminar' excuse."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Jane, you've mentioned that a few times now."

"Mmm." He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Sort of begs the question, doesn't it – why you lied, I mean."

Inhale, exhale. "Jane, anyone who's ever worked with you – hell, anyone who's ever met you – could tell you why lying to you often seems like a really good idea." She folded her arms loosely across her chest. "Don't hold your breath for an apology. I'll see you when I get back."

Jane gave her one last shrewd look before turning back to Walter. "I heard about Miss USA. Congratulations, you're the envy of every man in the country. Hope that goes well for you."

She felt a sudden rush of irritation, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting. He was digging, and poking, and prodding – all because he was determined to provoke some kind of reaction from them. She remembered what Walter had said about Jane's attitude when they were dating, and wondered if he was thinking 'I told you so' right now.

To her surprise, Walter grinned widely at Jane. "You want her number? I can get that for you – pretty sure she's still single, as a matter of fact." He elbowed Jane lightly in the side. "She wasn't really my type, anyway – well, I guess you already know that. So if you like her, then go for it. Love waits for no man."

"Time," Cho interjected on his way out. "Time waits for no man."

"Oh." Walter shrugged. "Close enough. See you soon, Patrick – let's go for a beer sometime."

Jane actually looked slightly flummoxed by the bizarre turn of the conversation; Lisbon was now biting the inside of her cheek for a different reason.

"Jane!" Cho barked from the doorway. "You coming or what?"

"Uh, that's my cue…" He looked as though he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. "See you guys later, I guess."

She held it together for a few minutes, but as soon as the last agent was gone, she turned to Walter and expelled a loud snort-laugh. "Did you see his face?" she cackled.

"I know!" Walter hooted. "He was thinking, 'how the hell did I get strong-armed into –"

" – taking the phone number of a supermodel!'" She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen him like that." The table shook beneath her, and she grabbed hold of Walter's arm without thinking. "Whoa, okay, I'm going to get down."

Walter moved to inspect her arm again as soon as she was down, and she tutted. "Walter, leave it, it's fine."

To her surprise, he bent to kiss the clean white gauze that covered it. "There. You want to kiss mine?"

He'd meant it as a joke – she knew that from the light in his eyes. And even though she'd turned to him fully intending to deflect with sarcasm, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere between them. His gaze turned serious. He was standing close enough that she could see his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed… close enough that she couldn't miss the way his gaze fell to her mouth.

She inhaled sharply. "Walter, I –"

He threaded his fingers through her hair, his hand cupping her cheek. Her skin tingled, and she forgot what she'd been about to say.

"There's something I've been wanting to say to you," he breathed. "Something I have to say, Teresa…"

Her heart drummed harder against her ribcage as she waited.

"How…" His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "How… could you have been so stupid?"

She blinked, the spell broken. "What?"

"How could you have been so stupid," he repeated, "as to tackle a guy with a knife?"

Any sense of anticipation she'd felt fizzled away into nothingness, and she glared at him. "Are you kidding? Did you somehow miss the fact that he was about to – hmm, what's the phrase I'm looking for – stab you?"

"Right, so your plan to stop him was to put yourself in a position where he could stab you instead?"

Okay, she was feeling pretty annoyed now. "Yeah, because I'm so incompetent," she snapped. "Walter, I've tackled plenty of people in the past – some of them armed, and most of them much worse than that kid. I'm not going to apologise for doing what I felt was necessary to save your life."

His fingers curled around her upper arms, gripping so tightly she knew they would bruise. "And how do you think I would have felt, if you had died to save my life?" His eyes burned into hers, his jaw clenched tightly. "Huh? Did you think about that?"

"Walter –"

"That kid was kind of crazy, sure, but – you know, I already wished I'd never made that stupid bet with Grossman. I've spent months regretting it, and not because of the money, or because I'm a sore loser – I did regret losing those people. But you know what?" He closed his eyes briefly. "I could have done something about it. I could have bought it back off Grossman, or at least funnelled some of AV-Tech's employees off to one of my subsidiaries before the acquisition. But I figured those things sounded weak, and I had other fish to fry, so I didn't do them. I didn't care enough. And this is the result."

She stared at him, astonished – in all the time she'd known him, he had never once seemed fazed by the idea of having enemies. He didn't care what most people thought of him – only the ones who mattered, he'd told her with a smile.

His grip on her arms tightened again. "If I'd known it would put you at risk –"

"Oh, Walter." She sighed, and reached up to cup both of his cheeks, smiling slightly as she felt the beard beneath her fingertips. "Stop it, okay? So you made another enemy – and yeah, maybe it could have been avoided. But a wise man once told me that 'people hating you is just a normal part of leadership'. And I really liked that guy for saying it, because I felt like he understood what it's like for me to be a leader every day."

His lips twitched. "You're quoting me? Teresa, I give terrible advice, I think that's pretty clear –"

"Every week," she raised her voice to speak over him, "if we're lucky, we catch our bad guy. Or girl. But I can guarantee you that every week, I'll walk away from at least one more person who hates me, and I'm not talking about the killer – I mean, people I interviewed as a suspect, or a family member of the victim. They want everything to go smoothly and perfectly. They want you to coddle them, apologise to them, make everything better. And I can't do that. So even if I do my job perfectly, someone ends up hating me. Some days, it might even be one of my bosses." She let her hands slip down to rest against his chest. "Look, I'm not saying that what you did was right, I'm just saying… please don't hate yourself for it. You're a good man; a lot of people know that. A lot of people care about you. So don't… dwell, okay?"

Without warning, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I am so incredibly glad you're alive," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

"And I repeat – don't dwell." She patted his chest and moved to step away from him.

Except… Walter's hands were resting fearlessly – and firmly – on her hips. She glanced up at him to find a smirk playing about his lips. "Not so fast," he said boldly. "I'd really like to discuss this feeling of gladness a little more."

She laughed softly. It was good to see him regain his spirits, but she no longer trusted herself to read his intentions. He'd fooled her a few times recently, after all. "Yes, yes, you're glad, I'm glad, everybody's glad," she said lightly. "I think we've said it all."

His gaze turned serious; he continued to hold her tightly against him. "Have we?" he asked.

Her heart rate was on the increase again. The last twenty-four hours had been like one giant cardio workout for her. "Walter…" she began hesitantly, her mouth dry. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Oh, mistake.

Any trace of a smile slipped off his face; his eyes darkened as they fell to her mouth. "I dreamed about you," he said thickly. "Last night, when you were sleeping in another room, I dreamed you were in my bed. I wanted you so much. I've spent six months trying to pretend that it was just a fling – trying to move on – but I'm so tired of pretending now."

She hadn't realised how much she'd wanted to hear that until the moment he said it. She didn't even try to stop the words slipping out of her mouth. "I dreamed about you, too." She shook her head. "I thought you were over me. I thought you had moved –"

He tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her forcefully towards him to meet her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Every kiss she'd shared with him in the past had had a seductive quality to it – he'd focused on being smooth and sweet, enticing her. It had never been like this – desperate, intense, imperfect; his lips sliding hungrily against hers as they exchanged shallow, shaky breaths. His stubble scraped her skin, setting it on fire, and she gasped into his mouth, her hands fisting in his shirt.

He held her securely against his body even as he was pushing her backwards towards the table; she groped blindly behind her with one hand for the edge, ready to push herself up, but his hands grasped her thighs and he lifted her –

"Ow," he hissed suddenly, pulling back. "Ow ow ow!" His hand flew to his side, where she knew the laceration lay. A few spots of blood had begun to seep through.

"Oh, Walter…" She hopped down from the table for the second time in fifteen minutes. "Let me look at it."

In retrospect, she wondered what she'd been thinking.

Honestly – leading Walter Mashburn into his bedroom and stripping him down to the waist? It was hardly going to end with either of them taking a vow of celibacy.

He had stretched the skin around the laceration when he'd lifted her. The bleeding was minor, but she decided it was worth cleaning and re-dressing anyway. He seemed to enjoy her attentions from his reclining position on the bed, if his continued smirking was any indication. Despite her stern instructions not to move too vigorously, as soon as she'd taped the gauze down and fatally announced that she was done, he was sitting up and reaching towards her again.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at him where he sat on the edge of the bed. "Walter…"

He tucked his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans and tugged her towards him, bringing her to stand between his legs. "Yes?" he asked innocently, pushing her t-shirt up to expose her abdomen. "Something you wanted to say?" He pressed a kiss to her stomach, to the curve of her hip.

Without thinking, she threaded her fingers through his hair, gently dragging her nails against his scalp. He hummed pleasantly against her abdomen, his teeth nipping her skin. "Walter," she tried again, "is this really a good idea?"

He pillowed his chin on her belly and tilted his head up to look at her. "You mean, starting over?"

She blinked at him. "Is that what we're doing?"

He wound his arms around her legs; his hands seemed to brand her where they burned against her jeans. "I'm not letting you go this time," he said firmly, turning his head to kiss her skin again. "I want to try this – us – again."

Without taking her eyes off him, she reached for her phone and stabbed for Cho's speed-dial number. She lifted the phone to her ear, her other hand still playing idly with Walter's hair. He watched her with some trepidation, and her lips curved into a reassuring smile.

Cho answered on the second ring. "Hey, boss."

She heard Jane's voice in the background. "Is that Lisbon? Can I talk to her?"

"Hey, Cho," she greeted him. "Don't give Jane the phone, okay?"

"Wasn't planning to, boss." There was a faint note of amusement in his voice – only those who knew Cho well would be able to pick it out. "You want us to come back?"

"No!" she said hastily. "Um, no. I need you to pass a message to Hightower and Bertram when you get back, okay? Tell them…" Her eyes roved over the dark-haired man who was holding on to her as though he thought she'd disappear at any given moment. "Tell them I'm on vacation for the next week."

The surprised, gleeful grin that spread across Walter's face was a sight to behold. He squeezed her legs joyfully and she slapped at his hands half-heartedly.

Cho was silent, but his own surprise was palpable even down the phone.

"They've been bugging me to use at least some of the days I've accrued," she continued. "Last time I spoke to Hightower, she was threatening me with enforced leave. So I'm pretty sure they won't argue about it."

"No problem," Cho said. "You gonna need anything?"

"No," she replied, not bothering to hide the smile in her voice. "I've got everything I need right here."

Epilogue.

Her arms cut powerfully through the cool, clear water; the large ripples ran all the way to the edge of the pond and dissipated against the rocks. The hot sun streamed through the trees, warming her back, glinting brightly off the water's surface.

She reached the end of the pond and stopped for a breather, taking the opportunity to enjoy her surroundings. It was so beautiful here. She was beginning to dread her return to work in a few days' time – to have to go back to the noisy, polluted city after this?

She tipped her head back to rest on one of the rocks, the ends of her dark hair fanning out around her in the water. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her face…

"…preciate your concern, but it's none of your business."

Her eyes flew open at the sound of Walter's voice, tense with anger, somewhere in the distance.

She swam quietly around the edge of the pond until she reached the point at which his voice sounded loudest. She strained to hear any other sounds – such as the voice of the person he was arguing with – but there was nothing except faint birdsong.

"… think you've made it pretty clear what you think of me," Walter was continuing, "and my relationship with Teresa, but why you think you have any influence –"

There was a pause. She frowned, trying to puzzle it out. He must be on the phone, she decided, but the question remained – to whom?

"I'm not going to hurt her," Walter snapped. "I'm in love with her, Jane, and if you think…"

She couldn't hear anything after that, just the sound of her blood rushing in her ears.

I'm in love with her.

They'd never reached that stage in their previous relationship. Questioning and analysing his feelings for her – that wasn't something she'd ever felt comfortable doing. After they'd broken up, the way his private life had been splashed around in the tabloids had seemed to be a pretty conclusive statement of how much he had – or hadn't – felt for her.

The last week had proved her wrong about quite a lot of things. She'd also had the fun of surprising Walter on a few occasions, too.

But as far as revelations went, this most recent one took the cake.

The rustle of grass caught her by surprise, and she turned to see Walter trekking across the clearing towards the pond. "Skinny-dipping again, Agent Lisbon?" he said as he reached her. "What kind of example are you setting for other people?" He tugged his t-shirt off over his head and kicked his boots to one side.

"You corrupted me in the first place," she said defensively, her cheeks a little pink. His words were still echoing inside her head: I'm in love with her. I'm in love with her.

She noticed the lines of tension still visible on his face. "Everything okay?" she asked softly. "I thought I heard your voice – someone called you?" She felt guilty for being vague, but if he wasn't ready to say it to her yet, she didn't want to push him.

Walter frowned as he stepped out of his jeans. "Jane," he admitted, pulling his boxers off and lowering himself gently from the rocks into the pond next to her. "He thinks I'm holding you hostage here or something."

"Holding me hos –" she burst out.

"Emotionally," he clarified. "Somehow. I mean, I have no idea how you'd do that, but whatever he's talking about, he thinks you wouldn't stay here of your own volition."

She put a hand on his knee underwater. "Jane," she said succinctly, "can be a real idiot sometimes. Why are you listening to a word he says? You already know he thinks we're a bad match or something."

He shook his head. "He thinks I'm going to hurt you. Cheat on you, lie to you, make your life a misery." He glanced carefully at her. "You know my history. You know I've done those things in the past. Other people wouldn't trust me, so… why should you?"

Only one answer came to mind. It was hardly a revelation, but it sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless when she leaned in close to him and said, "Because I love you." Truthfully, she'd expected to struggle with the concept of saying words she hadn't said in a very, very long time. But they came remarkably easily.

One minute she was sitting next to him.

The next, she was straddling his lap, Walter's fingers digging tightly into her hips. Despite the fact that her breasts were level with his head, his gaze was trained firmly on her eyes. "Don't toy with me, woman," he said lightly, but she could hear the underlying note of caution.

She wiggled her hips against his, smiling at his sharp intake of breath. "You know me pretty well," she murmured, bracing her hands on the flat rock behind him and leaning closer. "You know I can't – and won't – say things like that without being absolutely sure of it. I promise you, Walter –"

He snaked a hand up the back of her head, tugging it down so he could kiss her firmly, hungrily, his tongue scraping her teeth, her hair falling in a curtain across their faces. "You don't need to promise," he told her. "I trust you more than anybody."

The water was cold against her skin, but she felt warm all the way up from her toes. Somehow, hearing that he trusted her felt a thousand times more important than hearing that he –

"I love you so much," he mumbled against her mouth.

Oh.

She'd thought she was happy moments earlier. Now she felt as though she was about to burst. Her smile was actually hurting her face.

"Hey, if I'd known it would make you that happy, I'd have told you when I first met you." His hands skimmed the length of her waist, moving to palm her breasts. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Maybe then you'd have come with me on my go-fast boat."

"Sure, that would have been fun. You… me… your girlfriend." She pinched his shoulder lightly. "A delightful afternoon for everyone."

He shrugged. "Okay, point taken, but you could have shown up later in the investigation." He leered at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Maybe you couldn't get me out of your head. Maybe you were tormented by thoughts of me, and that's why you stayed away."

"Okay," she said, moving as though she was about to climb off him, "have fun swimming alone."

He grabbed her hips, pinning her in place. "Hey, I thought you were happy with me…" He moved one hand to slide over the curve of her buttock.

She sighed, remembering his words, and relented. "Yeah, okay, I'm happy with you."

"You don't sound happy…" Bolder now, he slipped one hand daringly between her legs; she gasped and swore as her hips jerked involuntarily.

"Fine," she said breathlessly, "guess I'll just have to show you, then."

THE END!

Author's Notes: I actually hate writing 'the end', but there it is. (And – yeah, I'm pretty terrible at writing the last lines in a nice 'complete' way. If I had my way, I'd include a button in the text that allowed you to leap through the screen and be Lisbon. I would totally push such a button…)

When Mash kisses Lisbon's abdomen, it's a reference to Smoke Screen (watch it, okay? Forget the actual plot of it, just watch for Currie Graham).

Anyway – thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!