A/N: I'm on vacation at the moment but God, it feels so good to be writing again. It's been a looooong year and I have a ton of ideas. This is the first and my first venture into the Mentalist fanfic world so bear with me. Still trying to get the characters down. To my Rookie Blue and Castle readers, I'll be back writing for them soon! Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: We would've at least gotten a hug in the finale if I owned the Mentalist. But I don't so no hug. I also don't own the line from Game of Thrones I threw in here.

To Wherever We Go From Here

They were screwed.

Truly, they were.

Because she's just extracted herself from Patrick Jane's warm embrace, sheets bunching around their bare waists as she all but dove out of bed in a mildly hysterical panic, the implications of what had just happened now hitting her in full force.

Red John was dead. After a decade of hunting, dozens of victims, hundreds upon hundreds of leads, the son of a bitch was dead and whether it was the emotional rollercoaster of the past several days or them having naturally come to this point in their relationship, Jane had wound up at her apartment after everything went down, all quietly simmering emotion and darkened eyes.

It's not that she regrets it. She would much sooner parade naked through the bullpen than regret the glorious night she and Jane had just shared. It's that now that they've finally crossed this line, finally thrown caution to the wind and given in to what had been simmering between them for the past several years, she doesn't know if she can go back to the way things were, quite frankly.

They were partners. Hell, technically she was his boss. Whatever Teresa Lisbon was, the one thing she prided herself was her adherence to the ruled (minus all the times she'd had to stick her neck out for Jane) and there were about 50 CBI regulations against what they had just done. And now she had to go back to work pretending like she didn't know what it felt like to have him break apart under her fingers, that he had a scar on his stomach that looked curiously like a knife wound, or that he could do things with his mouth she didn't even realize was possible. He'd said it himself. She was terrible at putting up a front and while she had denied it at the time, she knew he was right.

Which is why she's now pacing her bedroom, fingers twisting the cuff of the shirt she had hastily thrown on without bothering to check if it was hers (from the familiar cool scent of cologne emanating from the collar, she's fairly certain it isn't). She's talking about a mile a minute, mentioning everything from CBI policy to Bertram to how she thinks she left her jacket in his car last night. Honestly, she doesn't really know; she's just comforted by the sound of her own voice as opposed to the sleepy silence that would've otherwise existed.

She stops her nervous tirade momentarily to glance his way and immediately regrets her decision upon seeing the careful, measured look he has fixed on her. She knows that look, knows that behind those dancing boyish eyes, the wheels are turning in Patrick Jane's head and that never meant anything reassuring for her. Most of the time. "What?" she ventures slowly, not that she expected much of an answer.

Clear sapphire eyes study her for a beat longer before he answers, voice soft and still thick with sleep. "C'mere for a sec."

"Why?" She doesn't even bother to hide the suspicion from her tone, fighting hard to ignore the effects his rough sleepy rasp had on her stomach and parts unmentioned. A lost cause, really, considering what they had spent all last night doing.

"Just…come here," he repeats more amused than exasperated but his subtle eye-roll isn't lost on her.

Briefly, she considers just heading downstairs and brewing herself some much-needed coffee instead; Jane and his antics could wait their turn. Besides, it would be good for their…relationship or whatever they were calling this right now if she actually said "no" every once in a while. But she knows she's defenseless to Jane's charm, all mischievous smiles and carefully picked words, and therefore finds herself picking her way towards his spot on the bed. She absurdly realizes then that he's still deliciously bare-chested which she can't even blame him for seeing as how she's the one currently wearing his shirt and his blond curls are an unruly mess plastered against his forehead just begging to be carded through by her fingers. She stops just out of arm's reach, folds her own across her chest in her best attempt at an authoritative stance. They may be…whatever they were now but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to maintain at least some semblance of boundaries when it came to the infuriatingly attractive consultant currently sprawled out on her bed.

He rakes a heated look down her body, lingering momentarily on her bare legs, and she can feel the color rising in her cheeks. Damn this man and effect he had on her. "Oh, come on, Teresa, I don't bite," he murmurs, face half hidden in the pillow and eyeing the distance she'd carefully placed between them.

Her eyebrows quirk up at that and she throws him the smallest of smiles.

He smirks saucily. "Last night was different."

They share a knowing look, the events of the previous hours still very fresh in their minds, and her blush deepens a shade.

"Please?" He holds out a hand, a dangerous pout in his voice that she knows will end her resolve.

Still, she holds out, fighting her growing smile and the urge to run her fingers through his tousled hair. But he's looking entirely too appealing just lying there in not a stich of clothing, puppy eyes pleading with her to come closer. So she gives in and steps forward, unfolding her arms to place her hands on her hips.

His fingers brush her wrist. It's the softest of touches but it's enough to break down that last wall she had hastily put up once the reality of the situation hit her earlier and she lets him take her hand. Lightly, he runs his thumb across her knuckles, eyes softening as he does, and she can feel herself relaxing into his touch, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth at the warm sensation invading her stomach. For a moment, they're both still. His thumb stops moving, their eyes never leave each other, she even thinks she stopped breathing.

Then…

A firm tug on her arm, the soft rustle of sheets, and she finds herself on her back pinned beneath Jane's solid form in the middle of her bed.

"Jane!" she yelps before his lips descend upon hers, hot, insistent, and all sorts of illegal.

He plunders her mouth mercilessly and she damn well lets him, giving back as good as she got. God, she'll never get used to this. What the man did with his mouth was downright sinful.

They part and she actually has to remind herself to breathe, all semblance of sane thought having fled her brain the moment his lips touched hers. Feeling brave, she opens her eyes, a poor choice she soon realizes when Jane's blues are mere inches from hers, threatening to pull her under his spell once again.

"You worry too much," he murmurs against her mouth, laughter huskily coloring his voice in a way that she's just decided should be outlawed.

"And you don't worry at all." She rolls her eyes but hears the teasing in her words.

He pulls back at that but only just so that she isn't cross-eyed while looking at him. It's her first real look since she woke up in his arms not that long ago, face pressed snuggly into his neck, legs tangled beneath the sheets. In the pale yellow light of the early morning sun, he seems almost god-like, golden hair glinting, blue eyes shining. She takes in the laugh lines around his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips and finds herself not for the first time wondering how such a beautiful man could exist and deem her worthy enough to call her his. And she was. She was his in every sense of the word. They may have only just started the actual beginning of this stage of their relationship but she knew, had known for some time now if she was being perfectly honest with herself, that there would never be anyone else. She was his and he was hers from this day until the end of her days and nothing would ever convince her to give up this precious gift.

She notices then that he's managed to slip a hand beneath her shirt and was now tracing lazy circles up and down her side. Vaguely, she makes a note that his fingers should also be put on a list of things that were illegal.

"I spent the last 10 years of my life worrying," he says at last, voice barely above a whisper but she can hear the raw emotion as clear as day. "I'm not gonna worry anymore."

Her heart just about bursts and she watches as a soft smile slowly creeps across his face, one that she knows hasn't graced his lips in a small eternity, not really anyway. Raising a hand, she cups his cheek, the rough stubble that he had forsaken shaving since the last stage of the hunt began in earnest three days ago scratching against her palm. She loves this man, she doesn't bother to deny it anymore, not when they've come this far, missed out on so much. She loves him, completely, unequivocally, endlessly and with everything she has, everything she is, and everything she can give.

And as his lips seek hers once more, fingers skimming a fiery path down her thigh to hook it over his waist, the delicious pressure of him, all of him, pressed flush against her, she realizes that for once in her life she doesn't give a damn about following policy or doing what's right just as long as she has him.

A/N: Sleepy Jane had been burning a gooey, rainbows and kittens-shaped hole through my mind ever since the finale so I had to do something about it haha. Kudos if you caught the Game of Thrones line in there. Just a fluffy little one-shot to test out my rusty skills. I'm not completely pleased with the ending but it was driving me crazy the longer I worked on it. Hope you enjoyed it though! Drop me a line or tweet me Dany_Jarvis and say hi. :)