Dear readers, sorry for posting this SO early, but I would like to get this story to complete now- in order to write something a little bit more… light-hearted soon. I hope you liked this story. It was a challenge writing it, but not in a bad way. Sometimes it's good to leave one's comfortzone- I hope you agree!

Enjoy this last chapter!

Chapter 7- A Rainbow's Myriad of Shades

Patrick Jane walks along the shore, sharp wind tousling his hair. The ocean is a force of rampant chaos today, the surf frightening, whipped up by the storm.

The cool waves crash over his feet, the world is a hell of wild sensations, but all he can think about is: when he returns, she will be gone. Swept from his life forever, just like the sand is swept from the beach by the never ending touch of the sea.

With her, the last good thing in his existence will leave, the last spark of hope. He has lived to see her on his doorstep. Now they've had their goodbyes, and he has done everything he had left to do in this life. He's done. But it doesn't feel liberating.

His heart is clenching painfully, a bloody wound in his chest, and he closes his eyes in despair, remembering how she has fallen asleep in his arms last night. How they have made love, knowing it would be the last time. How he has kissed her goodnight, knowing it would be their last kiss.

How her hair has been fanned out on his pillow, her face smooth and peaceful in her sleep, when he had sneaked out in the early morning hours. He knows, he will carry this picture in his heart for the rest of his life, a painful reminder of the second time he has lost love.

When he returns, she will be gone.

He so wishes that she will forget him eventually. But he knows it's nothing but a coward's excuse, a lie to calm his guilt, his shame. You never forget someone you love like this. Like she loves him. Like he loves her.

He makes a desperate, tortured sound, something between a sob and a groan. He's a miserable coward. A traitor. Not worthy of the tender feelings she harbors for him. Not better than the fraud he's grown up to be.

A huge wave crashes upon the shore and catches him by surprise, wetting his pants, his legs, the shock of the icy water triggering memories he's used to suppress.

She has asked him: would he have turned his back on his family?

No.

He hasn't always been this way. Yes, he has disappointed his wife, his family. But she had loved him. And he had fought to deserve her, them, the two closest to his heart, guardian angels then just as Teresa is now. He had battled the darkness inside him for Angela and Charlotte. Constantly. He hadn't always been successful, but their love had bettered him even at the time of his biggest failures.

They'd been his greatest, most precious treasure. He would never, ever have left them, for no reason imaginable.

Would he have told them the things he has told Teresa last night, cruelly dismissing them from his life as he had her, unfeeling, cold, irresponsible- as if her feelings had nothing to do with him?

He would have done anything for Angela and Charlotte.

But he loves Teresa Lisbon just as much.

She doesn't mean less to him.

The realization stings, hurts so deep he almost doubles over, can't take another step.

It feels like a betrayal to his family at first, but he soon realizes it isn't. It's just the way it is.

He loves her, loves her so much it hurts, every time he takes a breath, his thoughts wander to her, longing searing his heart.

Why can't he honor the feeling, give it more than mere thoughts?

Why can't he be a haven for Teresa Lisbon, when she has always fought for him just as hard as Angela had? Why doesn't he get up and works his hands bloody to deserve her trust, her devotion?

Be what she needs?

Her love trembles inside of him like a sail… strong enough to carry him. So why can't he risk a new start?

Why is he still so sad, so much the feeling seems endless, like an incurable disease that just has to kill him eventually?

Why is the end everything he allows himself to see?

He closes his eyes and lets the water wash over his feet, his legs, lets himself be doused with the cleansing cold, searching inside his soul for a spark of life.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She doesn't find him next to her when she wakes up, and she is not surprised.

She gets up with a feeling of a truly, irreparably broken heart. She can almost feel the wreckage inside of her, the flap of torn, dead tissue. She has lost him.

It feels so much harder to let go this time, now that she's had a taste of him, their connection so much stronger, the feelings inside her blinding. All-encompassing. How can she get over something like this?

It has been easier the first time, when they've had their silent goodbye in Red John's basement. There'd still been hope in her heart then.

Now, she suddenly understands that even if she returned here in a year, she most likely wouldn't find him. He wouldn't be here any longer, leaving an empty spot in her heart that could never be filled.

Tears spill, running down her face, her throat, dripping onto her clothes. She doesn't stop them, doesn't wipe them away. A part of her simply wants to follow him, end it right now. But that isn't her. She will never choose the easy way out, and she knows it. She's been born a fighter, knightress of the lost cause.

She packs her bags, hands trembling. Just a few belongings, she's fast. Effective.

But when she's done, she finds she can't go, not now, not like this.

She climbs the stairs to the kitchen before, on an impulse, she decides to ascend higher, to the little room right on top of the building, the chamber that houses the beacon. She's surrounded by glass, a free view all over the ocean.

She steps in front of the glass door and looks out over the angry, grey sea before she opens up and walks out into the storm, her hands grabbing the solid guardrail.

She can't bring herself to look down, thinking what a perfect place this would be if someone decides that there's nothing more to do, to see, to understand for him in this world. Nothing… nobody to hold him back.

She stands completely still for a long time, the ocean noisy, strong winds whipping around her head, tossing her long dark strands around like the ribbons of a toy. She gazes at the sea, tries to think of nothing at all. Can't forget his face. It's there all the time, just as it had been in Red John's basement, when she had forbidden herself to dream about him.

He will always be there.

She has no idea how late it is when she finally walks back inside, but the moment she steps over the threshold, she sees the window on the far side. Somebody has scrawled a message onto the glass.

It looks as if it is written in blood. It's not, she realizes almost immediately, but it gives her the creeps nonetheless. Her skin crawls as she reads the words.

"Angel mine,

I'm sorry. Sorry there's not more I have to give you. I never wanted you to love me. It's a cruel fate. I realize it's yours. I never wanted to love you either. That's mine. Have a good life, Teresa. There's a bright future ahead of you, don't throw it away for me. Believe me- I'm really not worth it. Don't take the bad memories with you. But leave the good ones, too. Just forget me, little one. And let time heal your wounds.

I love you.

Patrick Jane."

She stares at the message until the letters blur before her eyes, tears filling them to overflowing, wetting her already damp cheeks even further.

But it's not sadness that flares up in the solitude of the lighthouse, surrounded by the wild storm and the roaring ocean. It's anger. It's ruthless determination, a resolve so deep a million giants couldn't break it.

How can he believe that she will forget him? How dare she to leave him like this?

She won't. Won't go, won't leave him to his brooding and a lonely death, surrounded by nothing but the sea and the sky.

She doesn't care for his words, his wishes, his demands. She won't budge. As long as he stays, she will, too. Chain herself to him if she has to.

Bite me, Patrick Jane.

I'll stick with you, through thick and thin.

I'll be your shadow from now on, and if you don't like that, you can go fuck yourself.

She stomps down the stairs, her whole body quivering with pain and anger, looking into every room to make sure she doesn't miss him. She needs to find him, now.

But when she reaches the ground floor, he's standing in front of the door.

Her anger dissolves into a cloud of smoke when looks at his face, and love washes over her like a rampant flood.

He looks at her calmly, wearing his black overcoat. Several suitcases are scattered around him.

His face is swallowed by his usual mask of utter control, his expression calm, almost bored, Patrick Jane's protective arrogance, as if they have planned this trip for weeks and he's just waiting for her on an ordinary day.

But in his eyes, she reads a feeling she only knows from stories and her own heart. She's seen it when he told her about his wife.

"There you are," he says, "I've been waiting for you. A plane leaves for Sacramento in only three hours, and we have to be in Portland by then."

She doesn't know what to say, just stands in front of him, her lips trembling too much for speaking anyway.

He extends his hand, letting his fingertips wander over her face.

"Why do you look so sad, angel mine?" he whispers. "It's a wonderful day and I love you with all my heart. So before we leave for this future you told me about, why don't you come closer and kiss me?"

More tears fall then, she closes her eyes, and when his lips meet hers, the skin soft and warm and shivering against hers, she realizes that he has believed to never kiss her again, that for him, this is like a different, new life. Finally.

She opens her mouth for his tongue, feels his rough hands on her hips, pulling her closer, so close her breasts are flattened against his chest. They don't stop before they have to come up for air, and it's so hard to let him go, even if it's just for a few moments.

They carry their bags and suitcases to their cars, and she just doesn't want to part, doesn't want to let him out of her sight, still vulnerable and raw from all the fear, the doubts, the hopelessness, still unable to understand that this isn't the end. She guesses the feeling will accompany her for a while.

He smiles at her, but there are still tears in his eyes, and she understands how hard this is for him, how strange it has to feel to risk a future after all these years.

He has to love her very much, and the thought makes her shudder. In a good, a right way.

She smiles back, and it's almost like the day he has found her in Red John's basement ten months ago, covered in his enemy's blood, dying. So much pain, so much hope. They will learn to live with both, she knows they can do it. Together.

It's a beginning, and it's as hard as it is beautiful.

"Promise me you'll follow me to the airport," she says, "and not drive anywhere I can't find you."

His smile deepens.

"Still so scared for me, love?" he chuckles and pulls the wedding ring from his finger. He softly places it into her palm. "Keep this. As my promise to you. That I won't leave you, no matter what happens. I won't be a perfect husband, Teresa. But I will try. For you."

He kisses her once more, his lips firm and gentle at the same time. He wraps a large, warm hand around the back of her neck, holding her against him. When he breaks the kiss, she puts her lips against his throat, inhaling deeply. His scent is wonderful, the ocean, Eau de Cologne, Patrick Jane mingling into a heady fragrance.

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," he whispered, "so sorry, Teresa. But I always believed my love for you has to come second, that I would never feel something as strong as I did for my family again. I was wrong. You deserve the same respect and devotion I gave them. You wouldn't have gone, would you?"

"Never," she answers urgently, "I was just going to find you to kick your butt for even assuming that I would leave you alone."

He chuckles, but she sees tears forming in his eyes, as if his feelings open new floodgates inside him every second, changing everything he has believed in.

"I love you," he breathes, "God, how I love you…"

So much more to say, to ask, but she closes her eyes and just tastes his kiss, one of a million, she's sure. They have a lifetime to talk, and she just savors the longing that brushes her skin when their lips part, it belongs to her, because he does.

Before he walks to his car, he lifts his hand and salutes her, the wind driving through his hair.

"Yes," she nods, "it's almost like the day you found me."

"It is," he answers, smiling, "but this time, you found me."

THE END

I know that most of you might want me to go on, but I'm all for clipped endings, you know me. There has to be a point where the story ends- even if Jane's and Lisbon's isn't, of course.

This story did with me what it wanted, I never planned to make it this angsty. Everything just kind of happened, and I just hope it's okay the way it is.

Now I'm in dire need of a little comic relief… doesn't need to be comic, though. Could be smutty, who knows :D. So, dear angst-lovers: forgive me if I write something totally dirty, as PWP as the night is dark next- I just need a mental holiday now. See you soon!