A/N: Well, I've come to the end of another story. It feels good to have written such light-hearted romance. It's a nice world to be in after all the angst on the show lately. I hope you like how this ends. I must warn you, it is mushy and fluffy and heavy on the romance. Still here? I guess you must like that stuff as much as I do…

Chapter 10: Conclusion

Jane stood beneath the spray of the shower in his motel room, lost in thought. He would never be able to feel water on his face without thinking of his second date with Lisbon, the surprise of the fire sprinklers dousing them after the heat they'd shared on the dance floor. And later that night…was it just last night that he'd first made love to her? He shook his head in disbelief, leaning his head back against the cool, wet tile.

And now, for the first time in five years, a woman had said she loved him. It was a wondrous thing, beautiful and incredible and terrifying. He'd been shocked, and that rarely happened with Patrick Jane. But now, alone with his thoughts, he realized that what she had told him shouldn't be too surprising. One could not spend nearly every day with someone, joking, teasing, bickering, sharing secrets, without certain feelings developing, and for Lisbon it seemed that those feelings had turned amorous somewhere along the way.

She loves me, he thought, feeling the thrill of her words now that the shock had worn off.

He smiled to himself, reveling in the notion that this woman, the strongest person he had ever known, could love him, the weakest person he could think of. He sobered a little, his old belief that he didn't deserve to be happy returning with a rush. Could he do this? Was he really free from his past to accept what she had offered?

"What do you think, Angela?" he asked his dead wife, invoking her name for the second time in a week. "I loved you, and look what that cost you." Or maybe…it was because I loved myself more, he added silently, closing his eyes as the water began to feel cool on his skin.

But Jane knew in his heart that he wasn't that man anymore, that if he ever found love again, he would do so many things differently. He would no longer be concerned with making money, with conning people for personal gain. His priorities would shift dramatically. He would savor every moment with her, not waste one second of his second chance.

He turned off the shower and stepped out onto the mat on the uninspired tile floor, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it tightly about his waist. He took another and rubbed it over his sopping hair, then wiped the steam from the mirror. He met his own eyes, watching himself as he thought of Lisbon, of earlier, when his body had been joined with hers. He noted the telltale dilation of his pupils, the slight flush that appeared that went beyond the heat of the shower. And then he saw it. It was there, all right, in the slight smile hovering about his lips, in the dreamy expression reflected in his sea green eyes. He was looking at a man in love.

It was physical confirmation of what he had begun to suspect, evidence that Jane needed to be certain that what he was feeling was real.

"I love her," he said in wonder, testing the words on his tongue. "Holy shit." He watched the man in the mirror grin almost shyly back.

She doesn't know how I feel, he thought suddenly, his heart accelerating. She thinks her confession upset me, that I didn't return her feelings. She was embarrassed, insecure.

He threw down his towels and opened the bathroom door, going to his overnight bag to fish out clean boxers and his pajamas. He dressed quickly, not bothering to button up the pajama top, then walked to the bedside table. Inside the single drawer, beneath the thick phone book, he uncovered a folder containing two sheets of stationary, the motel chain's logo and address emblazoned on the heading. A matching envelope and pen lay at the ready. It wasn't expensive vellum, he thought in amusement, but it would have to do.

He sat at the small desk and began to write. He wrote everything he longed to say to her, not taking the time to perfect either his penmanship or his prose.

He could have called her, or even gone to her room, but he knew she was too afraid to talk to him at the moment, too abashed by her unplanned admission to open up to him now. He would have gotten the royal brush-off, and Jane would have felt like a brute if he'd pressed her, and he was too impatient to wait until morning. So, the letter.

He could imagine Lisbon now, five doors down, probably neck deep in hot water—literally; she tended to take long baths when she was upset. She would have seriously debated drinking the small bottle of wine from the mini bar, but would have been too worried how it would look on the bill when it was sent to CBI Accounting, even if she'd reimbursed them. So she'd likely settled on the cheap herbal tea that had come gratis in the room to calm herself and help her sleep. He paused a moment, pen poised, the erotic image of Lisbon naked in her bath momentarily capturing all his attention. He had to physically shake himself so he could continue with the work at hand.

Within thirty minutes, he'd filled both pages—front and back—and he paused as he decided the best way to end his impassioned missive.

...and so, Sweetheart, all that is left to say are three simple words, but these are words one should say for the first time in person. Come to me when you're ready to hear them.

Jane

He finished his signature with a flourish, took a few minutes to re-read the letter, nodded in satisfaction, and sealed it inside the envelope. He went to the door to his room and peaked out into the corridor. It was quiet, so he propped open his door and padded barefoot to Lisbon's room. Taking a deep breath, he slid it under her door and stole like a thief back down the hall. Mission accomplished, he sat on his bed to wait, heart pounding with anticipation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, Lisbon got her fourth letter from Jane.

She emerged from her bath, skin red from the heat. She sipped the tea she'd left on the closed toilet, praying that it would seep into her brain to settle her thoughts enough that she could sleep. She made a face at the bitter aftertaste. The bath had relaxed her, but had given her too much time to think, too much time to keep reliving the mortification of confessing her love to a man who likely didn't return her feelings. Sure, the sex was fantastic—the best she'd ever had—but that didn't mean Jane was feeling the same way beyond the novelty of breaking his five-year celibacy.

She wasn't used to losing control like that, but she'd been caught up in the emotion of their joining, the epiphany of her love as overwhelming as the connection of their bodies. Her words had had to find release just as surely as she couldn't control the intense climaxes he'd brought her to. How could they ever go back now, now that the cork was out of the bottle, the cat out of the bag, the bell rung? She might have ruined everything, frightened him away. And it hurt her to her very soul to even think about losing him now.

She wiped her eyes on the edge of her towel, then wrapped it around her body. She threw herself down on the queen bed, staring up at the white sparkling ceiling, her position reminding her of how not two hours before she'd been prone on the hood of Jane's car, staring up at the stars, realizing that she'd likely made a colossal blunder. They'd driven back to the motel in silence, and he'd walked her to her door like the gentleman he was, even though they both knew she could kick the ass of anyone trying to accost her.

"Are you okay?" he'd asked tentatively to her back as she unlocked her door with the key card. She'd only trusted herself with a nod before closing the door between them. She'd prayed ever since that he wouldn't call, wouldn't knock, would leave her to deal with her misery in peace, without that look of pity that would surely tinge his eyes and voice when he spoke to her.

"You don't expect me to—"

He'd begun that phrase in the light of the moon. She'd cut him off before he could finish that sentence with a million possible endings, none of them good, in her estimation.

"—return your feelings."

"—make any promises."

"—be over my wife."

Her throat contracted and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Lord help me.

She lay on the bed until she became cold and she'd once again run out of tears. But Teresa Lisbon was, above all things, resilient.

"That's enough, Teresa," she said sternly to herself. "This doesn't have to be a deal breaker. I can just pick up where we left off if he can." She got to her feet, continuing her personal pep talk. She began to pace from the bathroom to the bed, holding her towel above her breasts, trying to convince herself that things could work out, that all was not lost over a few ill-timed words.

Then something caught her eye on the floor near the door. She figured it must be the motel bill, but those were usually slipped beneath the door early in the morning. Curiously, she walked over to the envelope, gasping a little when she saw her name in very familiar handwriting. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, she picked up the letter and stared at it a moment.

Was this the brush off she'd expected? Was he letting her down easily, in a letter? She sat heavily on the bed, afraid to open it.

"Maybe it's more poetry," she said aloud. "Ode to Lisbon's Big Mouth." She laughed humorlessly at her sarcasm. With a deep sigh, she opened the envelope.

My Dear Lisbon,

If we are to go on from here, I think I should tell you a few things, and it's always best to start from the beginning, am I right? (That was a rhetorical question, Teresa; of course I am right.) I remember vividly the day we met…

He'd continued for two pages, detailing how his feelings had grown and deepened over the years. He described little moments, some that she remembered, some that she'd forgotten, times when she'd been a comfort to him, had made him laugh, had made him see that maybe there was a life outside of his quest for vengeance. He'd tamped down those frightening emotions, however, feeling he was betraying his wife and child, betraying his vow to focus on finding their murderer. But Lisbon had gotten to him despite his valiant efforts to prevent it, had slid under his defenses, had made him dependent upon her. And then, a few days ago, he'd come to a place where he couldn't—didn't want to-deny what he was feeling any longer.

In many ways his letter was like reading Lisbon's own evolution of feeling. Denial, more denial, then, ultimately, acceptance. His words were eloquent and true, his writing voice sounding just like he was sitting next to her, saying these beautiful things in her presence. Tears sprang to her eyes as she reached the last paragraph.

He's waiting to say he loves me, she thought excitedly, lowering the papers to her lap. All at once, Lisbon's fears flew out the window, and she rushed to her overnight bag, pulling out panties and her brother's old football jersey that she used as a night shirt. Tossing the towel aside, she grabbed her key card and rushed out of the door, heedless of her state of undress. Jane wanted her. Loved her. She wasn't about to keep them both waiting any longer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She had to have read the letter by now, thought Jane anxiously. He'd seen that her light had been on beneath the door when he'd delivered it, so she hadn't been asleep.

He had been waiting an hour, had flipped through the channels on the television a hundred times at least, but found nothing remotely interesting. He'd paced, he'd made himself tea, had raided the mini bar for snacks, remembering that he hadn't eaten, that the rest of the team had spoken about a Mexican food restaurant down the street from their motel. But he couldn't eat. Nothing seemed to soothe his impatience, and he began doing something he rarely did—second guessing himself.

Maybe she hadn't really meant her confession, regretted saying it for reasons more than because she was embarrassed or worried that he didn't return her feelings. It really could have been a heat-of-the- moment thing, something lovers say when caught up in their passion. His eyes went to the nightstand, where his golden wedding band caught the light of the bedside lamp. His ring finger felt bare, and he had the feeling it would be a long time before he became used to the feeling, but it was a necessary step if he was truly going to move on with Lisbon.

"The hell with this waiting crap," he growled to himself. "I'm going to drive myself crazy if I don't have an answer now, one way or another." Jane abruptly stopped his pacing and went to the door, buttoning his pajama top while he peaked through the peephole. There was no one in the hallway. He sighed, making a decision.

He pocketed his key card and let himself out of his room. He'd covered half the distance to Lisbon's room when the lady in question stepped out of the door and stopped short in the brightly lit corridor. Her eyes blinked owlishly at him.

With two long strides he reached her, determinedly pulling her into his arms and kissing her until she was wrapping her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to meet his mouth with a moan.

"Teresa," he breathed, pulling slightly away from her intoxicating lips. "Look at me."

She did, her green eyes shining with anticipation.

"I'm in love with you," he told her, feeling his heart knocking against his chest.

"That's five," she said, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

"What?" he replied on a confused laugh.

"Leave it to you to take things two steps too far. You said you had three words for me, but there you go, adding two more to it." She twisted a curl at his nape around her small finger.

"Lisbon, you're always going to get more than you bargained for with me."

"I know, and as scary as that may be…it's one of the things I love most about you."

They smiled at each other, and Jane laced his fingers with hers, holding up their entwined hands happily. It was then that Lisbon, extremely observant in her own right, noticed the bare, white skin around the third finger of his left hand. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"Yes, but I won't lie to you, Teresa. This may not always be easy. Or smooth."

"Things seldom are with you," she said. "Another thing I love about you."

His lips quirked at the corners. "At the risk of sounding vain Lisbon, exactly how many things do you love about me?"

She looked back at him solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling. "Would you like me to enumerate them, or list them in alphabetical order?"

"That's okay. Just tell them to me as they come up."

He thrust his hips forward so she could feel his double entendre. Lisbon let out a surprised bark of laughter, and realized then that as they'd been speaking, he'd been slowly backing her toward his room. She looked wryly up at him, and he only grinned, continuing to propel her on her backward journey.

"Don't think, Patrick Jane, that you can beguile me into your bed any old time you please. I have a mind of my own, you know."

"I know, Lisbon. That's one of the enumerable things I love about you."

When he had her back against his door, his mouth came down upon hers again, his hands dropping to her waist, then lower, pulling her pelvis closer as their kisses deepened. He dazedly felt her hands reaching into his pajama bottom pockets, searching rather sensuously for his key card. He shifted to allow her better access, then his breath caught as her hands brushed intimately against him. His own laughter was smothered by her lips, and he took the key to slide it on the door and gain entry, his mouth never leaving hers. She nearly stumbled as the door opened behind her, but he caught her deftly, catching her in his arms before she could fall, the door shutting with a soft click behind them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Five minutes earlier…

Van Pelt rounded the final corner of the mazelike corridor of the motel, stopping so unexpectedly that the two men behind her nearly crashed into her back.

"Hey," Rigsby yelped.

"Shh," she hissed. "Look."

Her companions followed her gaze down the hall, eyes widening at the spectacle of their boss and consultant in an intimate embrace, laughing and talking in only their nightclothes. The trio stood transfixed, as if watching a pair of exotic animals beginning a rarely seen mating ritual. When Lisbon tiptoed up to kiss Jane, the men were treated to a tantalizing glimpse of their boss's sexy black panties.

"Holy shit," Rigsby muttered, looking away in embarrassment.

"They look so happy together," whispered Van Pelt, all former jealousy draining from her body as the romantic scene tugged at her heart.

They didn't want to interrupt, since their rooms were between the lovers', neither could they make themselves move back around the corner to offer them some privacy. They were undeniably fascinated by what they were witnessing, none of them ever having seen their coworkers in quite this way. Jane and Lisbon were acting for all the world like teenagers in love; it was truly an amazing sight to behold.

Only after the oblivious pair finally made it inside Jane's room-after much kissing and soft laughter-did the rest of the team feel themselves finally able to relax. Silently, they continued down the hall to their own rooms, Rigsby avoiding Van Pelt's dewy eyes.

"Told you so," said Cho, as he opened his door.

"I will never doubt you again, man," said Rigsby, feeling shaky, like he'd just witnessed an accident.

"If you ask me, they deserve it, especially Jane," intoned Van Pelt, her recent embarrassment at the consultant's hands completely forgotten.

Cho merely shrugged-his way of agreeing.

"Well, good-night, guys," Van Pelt said cheerfully. "See you in the morning."

"Night," replied Cho, then entered his open doorway.

Left alone in the hallway, the feeling of residual romance still lingering, the other enamored pair met each other's eyes shyly across the short distance between their rooms. Rigsby and Van Pelt saw in each other a certain inevitability; their time would come, they both thought. Maybe not this night, but some night in the not-so-distant future.

"Good-night, Grace," he said softly.

"Night, Wayne," she replied, an inscrutable look upon her pretty face.

Rigsby spent a sleepless night trying to decipher the unspoken message in her eyes.

THE END

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed this story. Thanks so much for reading and supporting it. I may be taking a little break from multi-chapter "Mentalist" fics for awhile, to focus on finishing my "Moonlight" series. If you like that show, I'd love for you to read my old stories. If you've never heard of it, rent it, or watch it on Youtube (you won't be sorry!) , then please come back and read my fics. I'm very proud of them—that's where I learned to write humor and dialogue. I think they're my best work.

You'll still see me back here for my weekly tags. I'm working on this week's now, though I'm still in a little shock for the previews for next week. See you soon!