So, this is my attempt at a Mentalist one-shot, which was initially inspired by a Keith Urban song and then completely spun out of control from there and now we have... This. Colossal thanks to Liz for listening to me ramble and providing reassurance and feedback galore.

For those of you waiting for the follow-up to The Red and The Grey... It's not ready yet (sorry!), and I probably won't have time to post anything until at least January. In the meantime, we have this. And if you haven't signed up for my weekly newsletter, you should do so - a different fic each week from The Mentalist, Bones, or Castle, and your very own copy of the BloodWrites Fanfiction Journal, delivered to your inbox on January 1. Just go to www[dot]bloodwritesfanfiction[dot]com and click on the big red "Subscribe" button on the right. Happy Holidays, and I hope you enjoy!

A crowd surrounded a massive Christmas tree, its thick boughs richly decorated with ornaments and white lights, a brilliant gold star at the top. Halfway up a grand staircase in an ornate hall, Patrick Jane raised his champagne glass. On his arm, Teresa Lisbon practically sparkled as she joined him in the toast.

"Though it is the holiday season, I would like to forego the usual Christmas treacle and dedicate this toast to the beautiful woman by my side. My partner, my light, my life, for ten years today."

The crowd murmured their approval at the sentiment as Jane surveyed the guests below. Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho were watching with a wide range of reactions: Rigsby clearly more interested in the catering trays as they passed; Van Pelt misting slightly at Jane's heartfelt words; and Cho, focused solely on Lisbon's reaction to this exchange.

"Here's to another ten years, darling."

He leaned in, charting the apprehension in Lisbon's eyes as he drew closer.

"Jane," she whispered under her breath.

"Come now, Mrs. Abernathy," he whispered back, exaggerating the Australian accent he'd affected for this assignment. "What does a man have to do to get a kiss from his wife these days?"

She acquiesced, of course – really, what else was she going to do? Though it was hardly the first time they had kissed, the fact that Jane was free to touch her in public, claim her lips, pull her close… It was frankly intoxicating. The crowd burst into applause as the kiss continued. When Lisbon finally pulled away, Jane readjusted his thick-framed glasses, noting that they'd steamed just a bit. Lisbon was blushing to her roots.

"Well, don't just stand there, everyone – how about a dance," Jane called out to the crowd.

The band struck up immediately with something appropriately festive, and before Lisbon could protest he swept her down the stairs to join the throng.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed, the moment they were safely immersed in the noise and rhythm of the band.

"Just playing my part, dear."

He pulled her closer. For his "role," Jane had dyed his hair just a shade darker and grown out the scant beginnings of a beard. The glasses and the accent completed the look, thereby mitigating the chances that someone might recognize him from his past in the spotlight. Now, he was Jameson Abernathy – a wealthy Australian entrepreneur in the states for a month to close a business deal. And, of course, to secure enough heroin to start all of Sacramento chasing the dragon.

The alteration to Lisbon's appearance was less dramatic – a faint undertone of red to her raven hair, a bit of make-up and, of course, a whole new wardrobe that Jane had happily helped pick out. They'd been playing their parts for three weeks now, but tonight Jane was still having a hell of a time getting used to how his long-time partner looked in a black sheath dress and slingback heels.

To his surprise, Lisbon moved with him on the dance floor. Up until tonight, her role had been considerably less visible than his; as Mrs. Abernathy, she'd merely needed to be on his arm briefly for a couple of social engagements before she could return to her own affairs. Tonight, however, she was most definitely in the spotlight as much as he. Though she put up a good front, Jane knew she'd been nervous about this night since she'd learned about the party being thrown in their honor by none other than Walter Mashburn, who had been apprised of the operation and was doing his part to lend legitimacy to their cover.

"You're doing beautifully," Jane murmured in her ear. "You're a natural at this, Teresa."

She continued to surprise him by snuggling in a bit closer in his arms. She was warm and lithe and she smelled like heaven; if pressed to do so, Jane wouldn't have even bothered trying to deny how deeply she was affecting him.

"Just doing my job, Mr. Abernathy," she murmured back. Her lips found his neck, her teeth scraping lightly against his skin until he was tempted to take her then and there.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing, darling," he whispered, nipping lightly at her earlobe. She arched against him with a small gasp. He grinned. It promised to be a far more interesting night than he'd anticipated, that much was certain.

The tempo of the music increased shortly after that. At first, Jane was disappointed at the change, but that was before he knew what it would be like to dance with Lisbon – really dance with her. Though she was clearly unschooled, she allowed him to take the lead and soon his skill and her natural athletic ability and grace had captivated the crowd. Jane naturally gravitated toward center stage anyway, but doing so with Teresa in his arms proved a powerful elixir.

By the time the band started playing another slow song, Jane's body was humming with desire. He glanced around with no care for subtlety at the giant grandfather clock at the entryway. It was barely ten o'clock; they would be here for hours. He was just getting the inkling of an idea when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Mind if I steal her away for a spin?" Walter asked. His eyes were twinkling and there was no mistaking his rakish grin: Mashburn meant to have some fun.

Jane hesitated for an instant before Lisbon took over, rolling her eyes at both of them. "Sure, Walter." She smirked at her "husband," clearly enjoying his displeasure. "I'll be back in a minute, sweetie."

And with that, the billionaire swept Teresa away. Mashburn was wearing a tailored tux, and there was no question from the way he moved that he knew his way around the dance floor. Jane was secure enough to know that he'd looked good out there himself and that, further, Lisbon had been enjoying herself in his arms… Still, it definitely rankled to see the way she laughed in Mashburn's arms, her head tipping back to reveal the graceful column of her neck.

"Boss is popular tonight," Van Pelt noted as she came to stand at Jane's side. The redhead was wearing a beautifully fitted emerald gown, the neckline low and her hair swept back. Rigsby hadn't stopped staring all night. Jane merely turned to her absently.

"Meh. Just so long as she doesn't let it go to her head. "

Grace squelched a smile.

"Do you want to dance?" Jane asked suddenly.

She looked at him in surprise. "Oh – I don't know. I think I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile. I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"Nonsense. It's my party. If you're a guest, it makes sense that you'd talk to me. And you're a beautiful woman – someone should be dancing with you."

She blushed at that, but still wasn't convinced. Jane took her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. In her heels, Grace was as tall as he was. His wife had been tall, as well – he liked tall women. He liked women in general, really… The way they smelled, the way they moved, the way they thought. And so, really, it shouldn't have been difficult to shift his focus to the beautiful woman in his arms. Tonight, however, he had eyes only for the woman Walter Mashburn was currently holding far too close for comfort.

Halfway through what was turning out to be an interminable song, Van Pelt pulled back to look at him.

"So I guess you know Boss and Mashburn had a thing, huh?"

He had known, as a matter of fact. Not because Lisbon had actually told him, of course. They'd been secretly dating for nearly six months now, but Lisbon still tended to keep her past to herself.

"I didn't realize she'd told anyone," Jane said.

"We could just tell," Van Pelt explained. "She came to work one day wearing the same stuff she'd worn the day before. And he sent her flowers last spring, and she got all stuttery and red. So, we figured…"

"Ah," Jane said, purposely noncommittal.

"She never looks at him like she looks at you, though," Van Pelt continued. "You shouldn't be jealous."

He grinned. "Jealous? Nonsense, Grace. I'm just playing a part here… We both are."

"Well," Grace said with a knowing smile, "You're both very good at it."

The dance ended and they stepped apart, applauding politely for the band. He was relieved when the musicians decided to take a break at that moment, and Lisbon returned to his side.

"Nice dance, darling?" he asked as he pulled her close.

"Very," she said. "You?"

"Indeed."

A few of Abernathy's "colleagues" approached then, and the couple separated as Jane talked business until the band started again. When he was through, he found Lisbon speaking with a group of high-society women she'd met recently – none of whom she could stand, he knew. She flashed him a grateful smile when he interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me, ladies – but if you don't mind, I'm just going to steal my wife for another dance or two before I have to return this tux."

They tittered uproariously at his joke. Lisbon slumped against him as she steered them back toward the dance floor.

"I owe you for that one. If I had to listen to Tiffy and JoJo tell another story about their fucking Pomerdoodles, I was gonna scream."

"That's the beauty of this partnership – you save me from gun-wielding madmen, I save you from fickle society wives and their designer dogs."

"I can live with that."

He stopped her with a hand on her arm just as she stepped onto the dance floor, pulling her back toward him.

"Not yet," he murmured in her ear.

Before she could protest, he pulled her away from the grand hall, toward a darkened corridor he'd noticed earlier.

"Patrick," she whispered after him as he led her by the hand. There were any number of ways he'd heard Lisbon say his name by now, but he still had a certain fondness for the way it sounded when she was scolding him.

"Teresa," he returned evenly, turning to her the moment they were out of sight of the rest of the crowd. Before she could reply, he pressed her back against the wall. His lips found hers, his body moving with unmistakable urgency against her.

"Wait," she gasped, in between kisses.

"I honestly don't think I can."

She disentangled herself from him, took his hand, and pulled him farther down the hall. It was one of the things he liked best about Teresa – for all her supposedly by-the-book tendencies, she could be delightfully devious when it suited her purposes. A pair of French doors led to a private garden around the back, suspiciously well-hidden from the rest of the grounds.

The moment the doors had closed behind him, Teresa was in his arms. He'd long since discarded his tuxedo jacket, and now she untucked his shirt as she sought more intimate contact.

"Do I want to know how you know about this place?" he asked.

"Not really."

He was trying to figure out how best to finesse his way into her dress – which, as alluring as it was, seemed to come just shy of providing a chastity belt for its wearer. While he was still trying to wrap his head around her response and work the logistics of their outfits, Lisbon hauled the dress up over her hips to reveal thigh-high garters and a notable lack of underwear, unzipped his fly, and pushed him back toward a chaise lounge conveniently located just behind them.

"I feel like you've given this some thought." He let himself fall back onto the chair, pushing his pants down just past his waist as Teresa straddled him.

"What can I say – I like a man in a tux."

"It seems more accurate to say you like a man out of a tux."

He ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling the coiled tension that he'd come to know well over the past several months. Her fingers tangled in his curls, but she paused unexpectedly and smiled at him.

"What?"

She removed his glasses and very carefully set them on a table off to the side. "I like you in glasses."

"So… Glasses and a tuxedo – that's all it takes to win Teresa Lisbon's heart?"

She was still straddling him, her dress pushed up to her waist, her hair tousled and her face flushed. She smiled, just slightly. Shrugged.

"I dunno – I kind of like the scruffy look, too." She leaned down and placed feather-light kisses along his jawline, his stubble scraping her soft skin. He watched as she sat back a bit, studying him. Her pupils were so dilated he could barely see the jade of her eyes. She ran her hand gently through his hair.

"And the curls. I'm a big fan of the curls."

His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer. He was pressed to her entrance, aching, acutely aware of the moment – the sounds of the party in the distance, the cool of the California night air, Teresa's slight weight on his lap… He arched his hips up at the same moment that he pulled her down, feeling another surge of desire at her gasp when he filled her.

"Glasses and a tux… Stubble and curls. So far, it seems I'm on the right track. Anything else I should know?" It took some effort to keep his tone even, feeling her tight heat around him.

"A man who knows the value of silence is a big turn on." She gasped on a down stroke, her forehead falling to his shoulder.

"Well, that's just a lie." He pushed her back a bit, so he could look at her face. "If you wanted silence, you could have dated Cho years ago, rather than taking a man like Walter Mashburn to your bed. Honestly, I don't know what you saw in him."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah, I know. Rich, good looking, well traveled… What the hell was I thinking?"

He tightened his hands at her waist, stroking deeper, never taking his eyes from hers.

"And yet, I'm the one inside you at the moment."

She blushed slightly at that – a reaction that never failed to amuse him. "Did you miss the part where I love a man who knows when to be quiet?"

A smile played at the corners of his lips. He moved in, until his lips found her ear and he whispered, "So, I suppose it does nothing for you when I tell you that I've been as hard as a sixteen-year-old from the moment I first saw you in that dress."

She tried to hide her reaction, but he didn't miss the subtle way that her body arched closer at his words.

"Or how much I love watching you when you come? All the things I'm going to do to you, how much I'm dying to taste you, the moment we get home?" She found his lips and kissed him, hard.

"Shut up, Patrick."

He grinned outright at that. There were so many sides of Lisbon that he'd come to love, but he still had to admit to a certain twisted predilection for this one: the take-no-prisoners Lisbon who went in with guns blazing and took bullshit from no one – least of all him. He returned her kisses and matched her quickening rhythm, losing himself in the feel of her body against his, surrounding him, the dichotomy of Teresa Lisbon's hard edges and soft caresses.

She'd been close – another minute of silence, her eyes closed, teeth digging into her bottom lip to keep from crying out, and her body clenched around him. Jane lasted barely long enough to see her through before he was there himself, his forehead falling to her shoulder as he came.

When they were both thoroughly spent and he was softening inside her, she curled in close with her head nestled beneath his chin.

"Thank you," she whispered huskily.

"My pleasure. A quickie in the garden's the least I could do for the woman I love."

She tensed. It was hardly the first time he'd said the words, but she still didn't seem to know how to handle them. Initially, his declarations had been met with awkward silences; those gradually gave way to stuttering and blushing like a virgin – which Jane happened to know she most definitely was not. She moved backward to look at him in the dim light of the garden, her forehead furrowed, eyes searching his.

There was regret there – something he most definitely didn't want to see. Regret and fear, shadowed by a certain resolve that he couldn't name. She'd made a decision somewhere along the line, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know what that decision might be.

"Jane – "

Not Patrick. Six months that he'd been working at that particular quirk, but suddenly they were back where they'd started. Before she could continue, however, Jane heard the doors open behind them.

"Patrick? Teresa?"

Mashburn. At the panic that touched Lisbon's face, Jane felt a sudden, unforgivable surge of resentment. His hands remained on her hips as he called out.

"Uh – right here, Walter."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Mashburn took a step forward, scanning the darkness until his gaze fell on the couple. Though their position and the darkness hid the details, it was clear what they'd been up to on his chaise lounge. Jane felt a twinge of petty satisfaction at the fleeting look of surprise on the billionaire's face before he recovered his cool.

"Well, well," he chuckled. "Nice to see you remembered the private garden, Teresa. Some of the guests were leaving – I thought you might want to say goodnight. I'll just tell them you were… indisposed."

"No," Lisbon called after him, just as he'd turned to go back inside. "We'll be right in. Just – "

She got up awkwardly and pushed her dress back over her slender hips. Jane's satisfaction from a moment before fizzled quickly at the fury and humiliation on her face. She hurried after Mashburn and caught his arm, while Jane was left to tuck himself back inside his pants and redress feeling like a complete ass.

"Just – look, if you could just keep this quiet… We're – " She hesitated. Jane's chest tightened as he waited for her to continue. "We're still figuring things out. Please don't say anything, Walter."

"Of course not, Teresa," Mashburn said, with what sounded like genuine warmth. "It would be pretty petty of me to sacrifice a lady's honor just to spite a rival."

He glanced backward pointedly at Jane, who stood with his hands in his pockets now, suddenly feeling very small indeed.

Lisbon was silent for the entire ride back to the condo the CBI had rented to go along with their cover – the residence of a former drug kingpin now doing time, leaving the luxury apartment conveniently empty. Though Jane – and occasionally Lisbon – had been staying there for nearly a month now, he still had the uneasy feeling that he was trespassing every time he came through the door.

Jane was expecting some of his colleagues at the condo early the next day, thus making it necessary for Lisbon to spend the night in order to perpetuate their cover as a couple – otherwise, Jane was certain she would have gone home the moment the party was over. For the first time in his life, he found himself grateful to a group of under-socialized drug runners.

Once they reached the parking lot, she got out of the car before he'd even turned it off, stalking to the apartment so quickly that he had to jog to catch up to her.

"Let me explain."

"Don't bother."

She unlocked the front door and pushed it open so hard that it bounced off the wall inside, nearly re-closing on Jane. He pushed it open more sedately and stepped inside. Once he had learned of the assignment – the result of a joint task force between the CBI and the DEA – and been given the keys to his brand new Porsche and, of course, the apartment, he'd taken it upon himself to do some decorating. It was a bit over the top for his tastes, but it seemed appropriate considering the role he was playing.

Teresa hated it, of course.

She made a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door in his face.

"I want to tell people we're dating," he said through the door.

This was met with more silence. She opened the door a second later, still looking angry enough to do serious damage. She turned her back on him, indicating her dress.

"Would you please unzip this fucking thing?"

He did so without comment, wisely choosing to refrain from any extraneous touching.

When the dress was unzipped, Lisbon stepped back into the bathroom and slammed the door once more. Jane sighed, running a weary hand across his chin. He took off his jacket and hung it up, then untucked his shirt from his slacks and removed his shoes. Then, he collapsed on the black leather sofa facing the giant plasma television with a deep sigh. Another fifteen minutes passed before Teresa finally emerged from the bathroom.

She was in her standard sleepwear – a sports jersey and a pair of pajama shorts Jane had always found particularly alluring. She went straight to the kitchen without speaking to him, then stood in front of the refrigerator for a couple of minutes before he heard the clink of bottles and food containers. The microwave came on, dinged, and went off. Still, Jane remained where he was – seated on the sofa with his feet propped up on an expensive-looking glass coffee table, his head tipped back and his hands folded neatly on his stomach.

When Lisbon returned, she handed him a glass of merlot and set a plate of warmed Thai leftovers between them. She went over and plugged their Christmas tree in, then returned and sat on the other end of the sofa, her legs folded neatly beneath her. There was a quiet sort of resolve about her now that he found unnerving.

The lights from the tree cast what seemed at the moment to be an almost melancholy glow over the room. Lisbon had chosen the tree – a sad-looking Oregon spruce that she'd selected from a lot filled with some of the best Christmas trees that money could buy. Jane had secretly loved her all the more for her sentimentality, a typical Lisbon gesture that she would have denied had he mentioned it.

That night, they'd made love on this very sofa, Teresa cuddling in close afterward as they'd sipped hot chocolate and told stories of Christmases past.

He'd been happy, that night.

In fact, odd as it seemed, most of the time Jane was happy with Lisbon. Six months in her bed, wheeling his way into her heart, and life was better than he'd ever imagined it could be after the loss of his wife and daughter over a decade ago.

"I shouldn't have done… What I did. With Walter."

"Oh, ya think? You're an idiot, Patrick."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm certain he won't say anything."

"It doesn't."

She leaned over to spear a piece of chicken from their shared plate, her body brushing against his leg as she did so. He sat up and grudgingly helped himself to the food.

"I still want to tell people about us."

The silence stretched on between them. Lisbon took a sip of her wine, then chewed her food thoughtfully.

"I know that," she finally said.

"So, can you explain to me why you don't want to tell people? All this subterfuge was fun initially, but it's lost its luster. You seem to enjoy my company. I've already checked and double-checked CBI policy, and the fact that I'm a consultant not directly under your supervision means the rules don't apply to us… You wouldn't have to worry about your job."

"I know that, too."

"Red John's dead."

She looked at him now, her body suddenly coiled. A certain wariness shadowed her eyes – the look she always got when they discussed Red John, now dead nearly a year. Jane had pulled the trigger on a stranger in that mall three years ago, but Rigsby was the one who got to watch the light go out in Red John's eyes. Time had passed, but Jane still found that to be a bitter pill to swallow.

"What does Red John have to do with anything?" she asked. Her tone suggested that, despite asking the question, she already knew the answer.

"If you're afraid I'll suddenly go off the deep end, so to speak. Develop some new obsession…"

"I'm not afraid you'll develop some new obsession." There was something to her voice that made him think this wasn't the complete truth.

He pushed the plate away and turned to face her. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes slid from his. She sifted through the noodles on their plate until she found another piece of chicken.

"I know."

"Tsk tsk, Teresa – two lies in one night. It's bad for the soul. Look at me."

It took her a very long time before she finally did. There was a certain defiance to her eyes, her chin lifted just a shade.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

"You said that already, Jane."

God, the woman was maddening. "Before Mashburn interrupted us, you were going to tell me something tonight."

The mask slipped, almost imperceptibly. She recovered quickly, but Jane caught it regardless. It took her a few minutes before she managed to look at him again. By the time she did, the cool façade she'd clearly been working at was crumbling fast.

"Yeah. I…" She shrugged, feigning indifference. "It wasn't a big deal. I was just gonna tell you that I think maybe…" She paused for a very, very, very long time. Jane was tempted to shake her. "I think maybe we should just take a step back for a while. We've been moving pretty fast, and I'm the first person you've dated since…"

Rather than the scene he could tell she was expecting, Jane actually smiled. "Don't put this on me," he said easily. "I've dated before. I know what I want." He moved in closer, searching her face. There was a shine to her eyes, tears there that she was doing her damnedest to hide. "If we're breaking up, I think we should be clear on who's doing the breaking."

"Look, I just think it's time to move on," she said. Her voice got stronger, an edge to it now. "We had fun, right? But you and me… This isn't the kind of thing that's going anywhere, we both know that. I think we're looking for different things – it's nobody's fault, really."

His smile didn't falter, and her annoyance at that fact was unmistakable.

"So… I'll just sleep in the guest room while we finish out this assignment, and we can go back to being friends. I think that's the smartest thing we can do here."

Jane remained silent.

"Aren't you gonna say something?"

"Am I allowed to speak now?"

"Yeah, Jane, you can speak now," she said, fatigue clear in her voice. "So, we're okay?"

"Not at all," he said with a shake of his head, his tone hardening for the first time. Lisbon started to get up, but he wrapped his hand around her wrist and held on, willing her to stay. "But I won't let you end things merely because you're too frightened to continue."

"I'm not frightened – what the hell would I be frightened of? Tonight was just a little too close for comfort… Mashburn knows about us now. I think Van Pelt suspects something, and I'm pretty sure Cho knows."

"The whole team knows, Teresa. They've known for months. Hell, they knew before we ever even did anything about it." He shrugged. "I honestly don't see what the big deal is."

"Well, yeah, you wouldn't. But it doesn't matter whether you see what the big deal is – the bottom line is, this was fun while it lasted, but tonight you crossed a line. If I can't trust you to keep this just between us, then I think it's better to make a clean break."

His hand was still on her wrist. Now, he stood and pulled her closer, for the first time allowing his frustration to show.

"Don't do that."

She turned on him, her eyes flat. "Do what, Jane?"

"Pretend that I'm Walter fucking Mashburn," he said, surprising even himself with the intensity of his words. "Act like I'm just some guy who was here for a good time, and now it's over and you couldn't care less. This has nothing to do with that idiotic stunt I pulled with Walter and you know it. This has to do with whatever you were going to say before he even came on the scene tonight."

"Screw you, Jane," she spat at him. He was relieved to finally see a hint of anger in there, some sign that she did indeed still care. "I'm not some mark that's gonna stand by while you get inside my head." Before he could respond to that somewhat ambiguous statement, she held up her hand. "You know what, just forget it. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm going to bed."

Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer, one hand at her elbow, his other arm encircling her waist.

"Don't," she whispered. When she looked at him, her tears were dangerously close to spilling over.

Six months sleeping together, and it was the first time he'd made her cry.

"I'm not leaving it like this."

He ran a hand down her cheek, his thumb catching the first tear just as it fell. She tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Come to bed with me," he whispered, leaning in to breathe the words into her ear. She tensed in his arms. "I'm not leaving you when you're angry. We'll work it out – but not tonight. You're tired. I'm tired. Come on, darling."

Lisbon didn't do endearments well… 'Patrick' seemed to be the most endearing term she could come up with for him. About three months after their first kiss, she'd inadvertently called him 'babe' (Will you hand me the remote, babe?) and had blushed so furiously when she realized what she'd done that it looked like she'd been out in the California sun for hours. She hadn't done it since, but he held hope that one day she'd slip up again. Jane liked endearments.

Instead of pushing him away as he expected, she nodded, allowing him to hold her for just a moment.

"I'm not changing my mind," she said. She turned and went up the stairs, but at least she didn't stop him when he followed behind.

They prepared for bed in silence, sharing the double sinks in the spacious master bath while they brushed their teeth. Since they'd started seeing each other, Jane had stopped spending much time at his place – it had never felt like home anyway, and now it just seemed… odd, being there. Lisbon's place didn't feel like home either, necessarily, and this condo certainly didn't. But Lisbon…

Lisbon felt like home, corny as that sounded.

She spat into the sink and brushed her hair without looking at him.

"Teresa."

She shot him a glare. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"I know. That's fine – but maybe we could just wipe the slate clean for tonight. We'll figure it out tomorrow. For now, perhaps we could just… Pretend you never said anything."

She looked at him with frank incredulity. Right. Lisbon wasn't very good at pretending.

"You know, Teresa, I love you, but you raise the term 'pigheaded' to new heights."

A tense moment of silence followed while he finished brushing his own teeth and spat into the sink. He looked up when he felt Lisbon's hand on his arm. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes searching his for something he still couldn't quite name. Jane prided himself on his ability to read almost anyone, but Lisbon was putting that skill to the test tonight.

"Don't say anything," she said, the moment he opened his mouth. She captured his mouth with hers, her hands fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. Her body was warm against his, her kiss desperate, brimming with all the things she couldn't seem to allow herself to say.

He returned her kiss with equal passion, his arms tightening around her. He could taste the salt of her tears, feel her heart beating wildly against his own.

Lisbon in love was a strange thing to behold – not that she'd used the word yet, of course. She was moody and cagey and, yet, when she wasn't protecting her heart with the fervor of a lioness guarding its young, she could be surprisingly open. Her generosity, of course, had come as no surprise. She was there for him every step of the way, no matter what he might need.

She just wouldn't allow him to return the favor.

His hands found their way beneath her sports jersey, marveling as always at the warmth and the softness that he found. Lisbon might appear hard edges racing after bad guys in her blazers and sensible shoes, but there was no shortage of femininity beneath.

"I didn't actually mean this, when I said we should go to bed," he said in between kisses.

She half-laughed, but the intensity hadn't gone from her eyes. "Shut up, Patrick."

He did as he was told.

The sex that night was unlike anything they'd shared before – filled with passion and unspoken sentiment and the knowledge that he had yet to acknowledge her sudden decision to end things. They'd had angry sex before, of course, but it was invariably Lisbon who was angry, and Jane was just shamelessly reaping the benefits. But tonight she wasn't angry, and it was only as he was cradled inside her, looking into her eyes, that he realized why that was. That he understood what this was.

Goodbye.

One last time, before she sent him out the door.

He could accept it as such. Why not? He had no shortage of job offers elsewhere if he decided to pull up stakes. He could leave, if he wanted to.

He just didn't want to.

That was the danger of loving someone, he realized – this inability to detach from them; the uncomfortable necessity of considering someone else's wants and needs, accommodating their baggage in addition to your own.

He stopped moving and rested his forehead against hers. Her fingers tangled in his curls as he kissed the soft skin at her neck, traced the edge of her collarbone with his lips.

"Are you still angry with me?" he asked, whispering it in her ear.

She shook her head. When he looked into her eyes, he wasn't surprised to find tears there.

"I have to do what's best for me," she said.

"I think you're afraid of what's best for you."

She pressed her hips up to his, pulling him deeper. "I don't want to talk right now." Of course she didn't.

Afterward, they lay together with his arms tight around her, both of them struggling for breath. Lisbon's forehead and the back of her neck were damp.

"It's not against the rules, but people will still talk," she said, her head resting on his chest. Her voice was sleepy. Still sad, but at least it was lacking that matter-of-fact resolve she'd had before.

"Since when have I worried about people talking?"

"I'm not worried about you."

"I know you aren't," he said. "But you aren't worried about work, either."

"You were a real ass tonight – with Walter. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?" She shifted so that she was looking at him, propped up on her elbow with her chin in her hand. Her brow was furrowed. "And it's not just that, either… There are a million reasons why it's not a good idea to fall – "

She stopped.

Jane managed to hide his grin, but just by a hair. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Not a good idea to what?"

She scowled at him. "I hate you."

"Ehhh," he imitated the sound of a buzzer. "I'm sorry, that's incorrect. Though you're on the right track."

"Bite me."

"Play your cards right and I just might. But first… 'There are a million reasons why it's not a good idea to…'" he prompted. "Here, I'll help you. Fall." His voice softened with the word, his eyes never leaving hers.

A long, loaded moment passed between them before she spoke. "Fall," she said quietly.

"In," Jane continued.

"In," she repeated. Their eyes held. He reached out and brushed the hair back from her eyes, searching her face.

"Love," he completed.

She ran her thumb down his cheek and along his jaw, passing lightly over his lips.

"Love," she finally managed.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Before she could turn tail and run, he pulled her back into his arms and held her close. She sighed after a moment, finally letting herself relax against him. Then, suddenly, she pushed away to look him in the eye once more.

"But if you ever pull a stunt like the one you did at Walter's tonight, I will shoot you."

"Oh, I have no doubt."

"And if we tell people, we're doing it my way."

"So I should cancel that sky writer I hired?"

"I'm serious, Jane."

"I know."

"I think we should just take things slow. See how it works out."

"Hush, woman. You're mad for me, and I've already told you I'm not going anywhere. I'm like the stray cat you'll never be rid of, now that you've shown me some affection and a few home cooked meals."

Her eyes narrowed. "I haven't cooked any meals."

"Well, you've ordered takeout… And you've let me use your pots and pans. Face it, Lisbon – at this point, you'll never be free of me."

She sank back down and lay her head on his arm, cuddling in closer. It was one of the many things he hadn't expected about her when they'd first started seeing each other: She was surprisingly snuggly, his Lisbon.

"I love you, Patrick," she whispered into his chest. He grinned – he could hardly help it, really. He pulled the comforter up around them both and kissed the crown of her head.

"I know you do."

She shifted, wriggling out of his arms to look at him. "Isn't there something you're supposed to, you know… Add to that?"

"Such as?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're a child."

"And yet, here you are. In my bed, in my arms. What does that say about you?"

Before she could get wound up and start arguing all over again, he pulled her close once more and snuggled in. Her breathing was just beginning to even out, her body growing heavier as she gave herself over to sleep, when he whispered into the stillness.

"I love you too, Teresa."

FIN