Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: Much thanks to bloodwrites for help clarifying a troublesome spot and to the amazing TemperTemper for the speedy feedback.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me; Title taken from The Police song of the same name.

Sighing, she leaned forward, tossing another piece of paper in the reject pile as she took a long pull from her beer. As much as she'd made fun of him for insisting on a tub full of ice to bury drinks in, it had turned out to be a good decision.

She knew that the change to autumn rarely meant much in Sacramento, but she enjoyed it, the slightly cooler temps, clear skies and golden leaves. The minute he'd suggested they just spend the weekend relaxing, reveling in the warmth, she'd felt the tension of all her responsibilities ease.

The sun hadn't cooperated though.

Beating down on their backs, the brisk fall wind was no match for it. Somehow—she refused to believe it had anything to do with his specific skill set—he'd anticipated it, keeping cold drinks and a bottle of aloe vera ("One can never be too prepared.") nearby.

No need to run into the house three hundred times, allowing her to concentrate on the welcome address slash lecture she had to prepare for CBI recruits and the man stretched out on recliner next to her. Yes, the phone could ring and ring, but as long as they had drinks, sunblock, and lots of paper (Jane kept balling it up and tossing it at her) nothing else mattered.

"I swear, Neanderthals must compose these things."

"Hmm?" She tilted her head towards him, the corner of her mouth lifting at the irritation clouding his eyes.

"These cryptograms." He waved the word puzzle at her. "The puns are completely asinine."

"Yet you continue to do them."

"I like a challenge."

"Don't I know it." She mumbled it under her breath, scratching out the words she'd just written before picking up another sheet of paper.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the puzzle in front of him. It was his third of the day and it was driving him batty. If he could just determine this key letter he might be able to crack it, but his attention was wavering.

Partially because of the horrible jokes in each one, but also because of her. The way she'd tilted back in her chair, her ankles crossed, toes curled down as she scrawled encouragement and warning for the new agents.

If there was anyone that could simultaneously scare and make the recruits feel like they were at home, it was her.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip and she closed her eyes for a moment before continuing to work once more. She was concentrating so hard, her fingers tapping against her bottle of beer as she stopped to consider her wording. Occasionally, she would sigh or laugh, the sound mixing with the clanging wind chimes and sending a wave of heat through him.

Leaning forward, he dropped his pen, content to watch her work. Happy that he didn't have to pretend to be asleep to do so anymore.

For a moment he considered stealing the latest draft to add another sentence or two—he'd done so more than once already, usually causing her to roll her eyes and smile—but stopped when she let out a throaty laugh, her head tipping back as she did.

"Lisbon, dear, you can't very well stress that rule when you allow me to break it all the time."

"Why do you think I was laughing?" Scooting towards the end of the chair, she stretched, shaking her head when she realized that, once again, he hadn't even glanced at what she'd written.

"So you were laughing at me?" He gasped in mock surprise, his hand flying to his chest. "I'm wounded."

"Your ego could use it."

"Meh, personal growth is overrated." He winked, the laughter in his voice belying the serious line of his mouth.

She suppressed a smile and moved her work to the side, satisfied with what she had so far. There was no way in hell she was going to get anymore done today anyhow, not with his soft humming as he halfheartedly turned back to his crypto or the way the sun was playing in his curls.

Standing, she started back towards the house, stopping to let her gaze drift over him, the past three years suddenly catching her off guard, making her head spin. Sometimes she could hardly figure out how they'd made it to this point, let alone believe they had and yet...

Yet she wouldn't change it.

Not for a hundred free hours at the shooting range.

"Going to get the romance novel you hid under..." He looked over his shoulder, his breath catching as, instead of finding her near the door as he expected, he discovered her hovering behind him, green eyes blazing with laughter and heat and... and love...

His fingers flexed against the arms of the chair and he swallowed thickly, vainly attempting to find the thread of what he'd been saying when he felt her nails brush over the nape of his neck.

Raising an eyebrow, she leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his skin as she pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck and...

Dropped a handful of ice down his back.

His jaw dropped, eyes went wide, and he froze, shocked by her impulse and the cold flaring against his skin. Pressing his lips together, he inhaled slowly, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

The little minx was just staring at him, grinning.

Reaching forward, he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap, his lips pressing eagerly to hers as his hand tangled in her hair.

"You little sneak..." He groaned as her hand fisted in his shirt, tugging him as close as possible. His teeth nipped across her jaw and he smiled against her as he felt her shudder in his arms. "That was utterly unfair..." His lips pressed to that spot high on her throat and he leaned as far away from her as possible, his hands splaying over the small of her back. "I mean, honestly, woman, what did I do to—"

"Jane..." She pulled in a shaky breath, her hand cupping his shoulder and pushing him back into the chair. "Shut up."

"Mmm, gladly."

Her mouth covered his once more, her tongue tracing his lower lip as her hips pressed to his and he grunted, his desire skyrocketing as the crisp air swirled around them. Between it, the ice down his shirt, and her, warm and wanting in his arms, he was sure he was going into sensory overload.

He deepened the kiss, on hand cupping her face, the other holding her close as his tongue stroked over hers. Sighing, she rose up on her knees, almost tipping the chair over as her legs bracketed his and her hands slipped under his shirt.

Chuckling, he pushed up on his elbows, lips skimming across her collarbone as he reached behind him and snagged a piece of ice from where it had fallen on the chair. Pressing it to the inside of her wrist, he smirked as she gasped and writhed against him.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and stood, holding his hand out for her as he squinted through the sun, smiling as his eyes finally found what he was looking for. That damned lightweight scarf she'd been carrying everywhere the past three weeks.

The one Grace had given her for her birthday and now taunted him at every morning crime scene, every overly air conditioned building. The burgundy playing against her pale skin making his fingers itch to roughly unravel it and—

He groaned, pulling her forward, snatching the material from the back of the chair it was draped over, before turning to face her. Their eyes met and he smiled at her tousled hair, the slight flush sweeping over her chest.

The blatant trust and desire.

God, he was a lucky bastard.

"C'mon..." He dropped a kiss to her temple, his breath harsh against her cheek as he twisted the fabric around their joined hands and her thumb brushed across his palm. "Payback's a bitch, after all..."