[The Mentalist-fanfiction] Two Days

Mar 19, 2011 22:08

TITLE: Two Days
Prompt(s): Jane and Lisbon; giving up to the attraction after Red John is dead(anon); lovin' in the CBI attic. (country2776)
Rated:M
Spoilers: untill 3.17


She doesn’t know what she is supposed to do or to say in a situation like that- honestly, this isn’t exactly how she has pictured this moment in her mind for many, many years, as much as she claimed the opposite, but, still, here she is, late at night at the doorstep of his attic in the CBI, standing still, unable to move, unable to say a single word to the man currently sitting on the makeshift bed in the corner of the dusty room, with hands to cover his face out of… she doesn’t know exactly why he is doing it. Lisbon doesn’t know if Jane is sorry, if he is desperate or depressed or mad, but, mostly, she doesn’t know the real reason why he is feeling this way.

Maybe, if in the last two days she had talked with him instead of retreating to her own apartment, they’d be cool by now, but no, she hasn’t done it. Lisbon hasn’t talked with Jane after what has happened, and… she isn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it’s just that she is still scared, of many things, or maybe she wasn’t ready to face him yet, or maybe she simply preferred to give him time to “elaborate” what has happened- or maybe, she was the one who needed to elaborate after what she had discovered in that same room. Because, in the last few days, many things happened, too many, and, honestly, she just needed time to elaborate as well, maybe even more than Jane did. Besides… she didn’t need to be that close to Jane, she didn’t need to complicate things furthermore, she wasn’t ready to do such, but, still, she knows the truth. She can’t spend her life avoiding Jane, it’s not right for her or for the man himself. Just because she has been scared, just because she is still scared, just because a part of her is hurt doesn’t mean that she can allow the man to be miserable for the rest of his life - even the team, after all he has done, is worried for him, and right now, seeing him, she gets it, she gets why. And she starts to feel guilty and sorry-which is never, ever a good combination, especially when it concerns men.

“Ehy” it’s the first thing that leaves her mouth in few days -her voice is low and rough, it’s the first thing she tells him, and it wasn’t definitely how she has pictured this conversation, that is, if she ever pictured it at all.

Silently, without adding anything more, she walks slowly in his direction, and, finally, Jane frees his eyes from the prison that were his own hands. He has been silently crying, he hasn’t slept in days, of that much she is sure, and now she feels guilty. That simple and short word, she should have said it sooner, but… she hasn’t been strong enough. She has been too scared to do so. in the last few months, she and Jane has gotten closer, too close, and now, now that Red John is no more, she was, is scared that making the wrong move at the wrong time may ruin everything. But, right now, seeing Jane in this state, a state she has seen him in maybe just a couple of times in his life, and knowing that it’s because of Red John and because of what the killer has done to her… she can’t help but regretting her own decisions, her own insecurities, because, after all, who is she to decide what’s good or what’s wrong for Patrick Jane, who’s her to decided what he needs, who’s her to make him suffer?

She sits at his side on the makeshift bed in that attic of his, and their eyes meet for an unknown amount of time, and what she sees in his eyes, it terrifies her more than his “madness”, than his thirst for blood, more than his wish for revenge ever had... he tries to hide them, tries to hide his face from her, but Lisbon doesn’t want to hear any of it. with her right hand, she lifts his chin, forcing eye-contact, and this time, he doesn’t fight it.

“Good Lord, Jane, have you ever slept a minute in the last few days?” she asks, eyes closed while fighting back the tears, massaging his face and his short beard with her free hand.

“I keep seeing it” he admits, at low voice, his voice broken by tears and his cry as he leans into the palm of her hand. “Every time I close my eyes…I keep seeing it… I see that the team didn’t arrive in time and you… and he… he forces me to look while he…while he tortures you, cutting you open… and he paints your nails with your own blood… and he forces me to look at you while you slowly bleed out calling out my name…”

The fact that Jane keeps shifting from past tense to present doesn’t go unnoticed by Lisbon, as the meaning of the fact itself, and it’s like being stabbed and kicked while she is down, because… because it’s all her fault, and she could have prevented it. Jane is mixing what happened that fateful day (how the mole inside the CBI, in order to impress Senator Anne Kelvin’s son, Michael “Red John” Jared, tried to kidnap Jane himself, how Jane was able to manipulate Bertram to get info on Red John’s locations, how Lisbon found the notes while looking for yet another kidnapping involving  again her consultant, how she was able to figure things out and locate the men, finding them holding each other at gunpoint, how another of Red John’s associates surprised her, taking her hostage, how the killer almost killed described Jane how’d kill her while he’d watch, how the team tracked her and therefore Jane, saving them all, how , while he was trying to escape, Cho, always the good sniper, killed Jared) with what didn’t happened, with visions and nightmares. Maybe, if she’d forced herself to come to talk him sooner, he’d be able to sleep, seeing that she was alive and well… But it has been hard, even for herself. The fact that it has taken her two days to find the strength to look at her reflection in the mirror, to study the image of the bandage on her neck that will leave a scar for the rest of her days, a memorial to Red John’s last plan, is proof enough. She needed to be strong for Jane, she needs to be strong for Jane. She couldn’t show up all crying and desperate when she knew he’d be crying and desperate.

“Ehy, ehy, I’m here, Jane, he is no longer out there, you made it, can’t you see it? I’m here while he isn’t…” she keeps repeating while massaging his back, but he doesn’t stop crying, doesn’t stop repeating the same sentence he has already told her over and over again. It’s like he is trapped in a nightmare, like he can’t see this is the reality, that she is alive and well, that she made it while Red John didn’t. The poor man is so stressed and in such an awful state that he is almost shaking, like he’d be shivering for a high fever or even pry to convulsions. Not knowing what to do, she does what she saw more than once her brothers and sisters in law doing with her nieces and nephews - she cuddles him in her arms, embracing him with her arms and the soothing sound of her low voice, a whisper into his ear as his blonde curls rest in the crock of her neck. “Sshhhh, it’s all right, everything’s well, I’m fine, I’m here, calm down and relax, I’m here, I’m not going to leave any time soon Patrick…”

At the end, this is what makes it. It’s when she whispers his given name, a rare occurrence, that he awakens. She feels the moment he comes back to his senses, when he stills in her arms. She makes to release him, her grip on his shoulders getting weaker and weaker, sure that this is what he wants, but, as soon as she tries to move away with a weak smile, he stills her movements, gripping the dark haired woman so tightly she is sure that, even if she is wearing a blouse, there will be bruises in a couple of days on her forearms.

Their eyes meet, and his are dark and desperate, but they have something, like a spark, like life’s returning to them, to him, after so long. His lingering look is so intense that she gulps, that she can’t move, can’t speak, she can’t even contemplate the idea of not looking at him. There’s something magnetic that pulls her towards him, she knows that it has always been there, in the back of her mind, something she has always refused to listen to, but now she can’t do it any longer: the moment she took him in her arms he stopped being Jane. He is just Patrick, the man she has craved for longer that she’d like to admit, the man she has often dreamt about, the man she has gradually fallen in love with. Resisting him would be like resting the urge of drinking water, of eating. So, she doesn’t- she stops fighting whatever she has fought for so long, because, really, is there any actual reason that tells her stop whatever they are starting? She doesn’t care about the job, not any longer, she has seen too many lives ruined because of it, and she doesn’t care any longer. She deserves to be happy and normal. He deserves to be happy and normal, and if they can be happy and normal only together, so be it.

He nullifies the grip of his hands on her, and slowly his palms trace her whole being over her clothes, time after time. He is studying her, she realizes as she keeps looking at him, with his hands like that time he was blind, and in his eyes, so focused on the journey his hands are taking along her curves, she can sees fascination, but something else as well. Jane is clearly happy to be in this situation with her, but he seems… she isn’t sure of surprised is the right word, but she’d say it gets close. He seems surprised that he is allowed to do something like that again, he is surprised that she allowing him to do it, he is surprised that he is really doing it with her, like he has  always dreamt of.

His hand still on her neck, and once again their eyes meet. Cupping her oval, he smiles, of a smile she has never seen before on him. She has never seen Patrick Jane so happy, so carefree, and it’s just because of her. She makes him happy. She makes him a better man, and this realization… she laughs, and soon is joined by him. she realizes she was wrong- this is the Jane she wants to see for the rest of her life.

He kisses her- or better, they kiss. They kiss not once, but many, many, many times, small kisses, short kisses, smiling in them, laughing happy. there’s no rush, there’s no need to, and they could take their time, they could date, they could do as the rest of the world, but they are not. They survived the end of the world, and they deserve it, they deserve it because they’ve wanted it for so long, because they’ve waited for so long to be allowed to have that, because they thought they weren’t going to have it in the end, and because they need it to remember that they are alive, that they actually survived the end of their world as they know it.

Without breaking the contact of their lips, sitting one in front of each other on his makeshift bed, they start to undress each other at the same time. Jane makes quick work of the buttons of her blouse, and has to eventually help the dark haired cop out with his shirt, more because she is losing her patience after having already released him from two layers of clothes (jacket and vest) then because of the stubbornness of the material. She is so frustrated (mostly because he is wearing an undershirt as well, another layer of clothes she’ll have to force him to get rid of, and to get rid of this one they’ll have to stop kissing) that the last couple of buttons actually fly somewhere in the room to never get found again.

Few instants later, he is standing with a bare chest in front of her, looking at her with such an adoration she has never witnessed in a man before. Lisbon, instead, still with her pants and bra, feels the need to cover herself. Somehow, blushing, she ends up thinking that she shouldn’t do this, not because of him, but because of her. Covering her black lacy covered breasts, she can’t help but thinking she’ll never be enough for him- smart enough, beautiful enough. She’d like to retreat, to forget this. But Jane, understanding what she is feeling, doesn’t want to hear any word about this idiocies, doesn’t want to have any of it.

One hand on her hip, the other locked on the bandage, he assaults her. he no longer kisses her lips, but licks and sucks every inch of skin he finds from her chin to her torso. She doesn’t know how, but somehow, Lisbon end up laying down on the “bed” with Jane on top of her, doing such a sweet and lustful torture to her, body and soul. All her doubts vanish as she grips his blonde curls for the first time, feeling how soft they are even for real. All her doubts vanish as he sucks and bites the tender skin of her nipples through the rough lace. All doubts vanish as she moans, almost screams his name, pry to desire. All doubts vanish as she feels his arousal against her thigh. Only one certainty remains: she wants him inside her, as soon as possible, no foreplay, no hands, no lips, no tongues, just that- Patrick Jane inside of her, Teresa Lisbon, two bodies moving like one.

With shaking hands, searching for his face to understand his reaction, she starts to work on his slacks. It takes her a while, she doesn’t know how long exactly, to get rid of them. She just knows that, at once point, she realizes that Patrick Jane is standing on top of her with just a pair of black boxers, extremely tight and short, with his erection well visible - even if it’s not her usual thing., she feels the need to skim over the fabric to feel the hard length of him under her fingertip - he shivers in anticipation, pry of the pleasure and he opens his eyes again, dilated, focused on her breasts, still covered. Grinning, he realizes he has neglected her.

He quickly switches position, going to seat in the middle of the so-called bed, brining Teresa with him, and without any hesitations he reaches the clasp of her bra on her back, freeing her of the troublemaker piece of lingerie with experts hands, quick hands, hands of a “magician”. His grin gets bigger and bigger at the sight of the two perfect hills, of the valley between her breasts he immediately nuzzles with affection.  He kisses the tender and sensitive skin, from the valley to one of her breasts, and then he passes to give the needed attention to the nipples. What he did to it while she was wearing the bra, he repeats it now that she is bare, working one nipple with his clever mouth, the other one with his hand, switching every now and then.

She grips him for his curls,  keeping him against her chest, and bites her lips to not scream because of what he is doing to her. He grins satisfied against her skin when he feels Lisbon grinding against him, trying to melt into him even if they are still  clothed, only if where it matters, where she wants him to be. So, as she spurs him on to keep the good work on her breasts with her silent moans and her body language, with the unoccupied hand Jane frees Lisbon from her trousers. It takes him a while, though, with just one hand, and with Lisbon being partly uncooperative because the only language she understands right now is the one of his lips on her breasts, but at the end he can’t help saying he is satisfied with the result- they are both just wearing one last article of clothing, Lisbon a tiny pair of lacy panties, a matching with her bra. He isn’t sure when or where shoes and socks disappeared, and frankly he doesn’t care.

He has always knew she is sexy, but this…  she IS every male’s fantasy coming true, so sexy, so wild, answering to his presence in such a beautiful way. He wanted her before, and now he wants her even more.

With the same hand he used to free her from the trousers, her traces the counter of her panties, slipping, at then, slowly and quite carefully, a finger inside the waistband. He cups her heat, traces her lips, her folds, skims over the over-sensitive skin over there. He stills the movements of his lips as he does so, and he doesn’t know where he is supposed to look. Should he look at Lisbon’s expression while he pleasure her with a finger? Or should he simply look at how incredible is that said finger is finally doing what he has always dreamt of doing- feeling her sex around and underneath it?

He stops his ministrations when he hears a sound coming from Lisbon’s mouth, his finger still skimming over her hot sensitive skin of her core, and it takes him a while to find the courage to look at her - a part of him is quite scared that the incoherent murmur may mean “no” as in “let’s not take this any further than this”. he realizes that whatever she may mean that’s not the case when she keeps grinding against him, unnerved by the lack of movement and participation on Jane’s side.

“You… I just… please… I don’t need… I just… I just need you, please…” a lazy smile covers his lips as the words reach his mind. He can’t say he doesn’t agree with Lisbon on this, though. He knows that this, as much as they are making love- because he does love her, and he knows that she has fallen for him long before he did - is kind of comfort sex. They are doing this, they are following the spur of the moment, to remember themselves that they are here, alive, with each other. There will be time to explore, to pleasure each other, to try other things, all the time in the world. Besides, it’s been so long for him, so many years he hasn’t been intimate with a woman, that he knows that if he’ll not do it, the show will be over before it could actually begin. So, still grinning, kissing passionately his lover’s lips, he slowly helps Teresa to get rid of her last piece of underwear, while his boxers are removed with just one of his hands, and quite messy.

He remains on top of her- because that’s what he needs, because he needs for once being in total control of the situation, because he needs to be in control of this, for this. His elbows are planted each side of her face so that his weight wouldn’t crash her, and his hands are running through her dark hair, like a crown, like sunrays, a marvelous contrast with the white pillow; he traces her features, stilling on the bandage on her neck, while hers are exploring his naked body, his back, tracing his rear end- jolts of electricity, shivers run through them along their spines.  All the time, their lips never part if not when oxygen is needed, if not for kisses along the skin, the collarbone, the neck, or for sensual licks of her lobe. He can feel the tension rising, he can feel the need of emptying himself inside Lisbon, around Lisbon. He knows he’ll not last long, so, he lets it happen, they let it happen, and it’s only then that he stops to kiss her, that he parts from her lips, his face away from her body, because he needs to see it, see her while they’ll become one, he needs to see her, his Lisbon, his Teresa, alive and well and safe, in his arms and his life, transfigured by the pleasure and the need - she’ll probably not last long either, but he imagines that it could be the same for her, that for once she’ll forgive him if she’ll think of him, if he’ll let put aside double orgasms and foreplay for once.

He positions himself at her opening, and he joins their bodies in a quick and quite unexpected, for both parties involved, movement. He feels her gasping and her breathing getting erratic, her inner walls stretching to get used to his size. He lifts her right thigh, and “forces” it around his waist, and the new angle allows him to go deeper inside of her. She moans, not already because of the pleasure but because she needs him now, she needs him to move. And that’s when, once saw the lust into her foggy green eyes, focused on his face while her nails lazily scratch his back, he does it. He pushed himself inside of her as far as he can, as far as she allows him to, and his instinct would be of getting it done, but he has to make her reach the peck of pleasure at least once… his movements get slower, and for few times, with every thrust he almost leaves her just to come back inside her welcoming heat.

His lips come back to take care of her marvelous chest, and he can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t love it, how she can’t find it perfect - her breasts are the perfect size for his hands, her nipples feels wonderful between his lips and the feel of his tongue against them can’t even be described. He keeps thrusting into her, and for the first time, with some part of his mind hidden in the back of his brain, he notices that they meet thrust for thrust, mirroring each other’s movements perfectly, in synch, like it wasn’t their first time.

His eyes never leave hers, though.

And it’s then that they both feel it, her inner muscles clenching around his hard length, an orgasm as sudden (but expected, though) and strong as its force…   she arches her back lifting it from the mattress, her chest pressed even more than before against Jane’s whole being, against his face. She scratches his back with all her force, making him bleed. She doesn’t emit a single sound, though, as she comes, not even his given name - her release is a silent one, only pants can be heard after.

And now that she has come… now that she has come, Jane knows that there’s no reason to hold back any longer. So, he does what he’d wished to do right from the begin of their love encounter. He thrusts hard and fast into her boneless and spent being, still keeping his weight on his forearms, but he doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t touch her, doesn’t even look at her (it’s like his eyes are focused on the point where their bodies are joined intimately). Most of the remaining time he even keeps his blue orbs closed.

“Mine, you’re mine, just mine from now on…I’ll never leave you… you’re not going to… get rid of me… just mine, Teresa…always mine, forever mine…” After the third thrust, he come inside her, grunting, keeping claiming her as his won with words and acts; he has to bite his lips, to resist the urge of crying at loud her name, making everyone at the CBI aware that they’ve just done something incredibly unprofessional and inappropriate in a place where they weren’t supposed to do it. After he has spiller himself, his whole self, maybe even a bit of his soul, into Lisbon, he remains where he is, boneless and spent as she is. “Mine” he repeats a last time, the sound of his voice strangled as he pants the word against her chest, once he has already collapsed on top of the woman.

She doesn’t answer verbally to his claims. Teresa doesn’t know if Jane can see, or feel, her lazy and content and satisfied smile, but she is pretty adamant that the man heard her sighing very, very happy, and is understanding the meaning of such a simple action, and, obviously, of her body language. She doesn’t need to tell him at loud that she is his and his only, she knows that he has already figured it out that she agrees 100%.

It takes him a while to regain control of his body, and realizes that his weight is crashing her petite form. When he does, with a quick movement, he switch positions, rolling on his back and brining Lisbon, naked, on top of him. They don’t even try to have another go at it, they don’t even touch, they don’t even kiss. They just spent the rest of the night together, embraced quite lazily.

An infinite time later, they are still there, on his makeshift bed, still without any clothes on, partly covered just by a blanket of fortune (something quite disgusting that Lisbon, from the look of it, is quite sure has been used in a long and forgotten past to cover the furniture while painting), still awake. Lying on his back, Jane doesn’t focus, like his usual, on the ceiling, but on the dark haired woman who’s lying down on top of him, drawing invisible patterns on his chest (his nipples) while smiling a bit shy but extremely proud of herself, clearly happy. With a lazy smile, he takes a lock of hair between two fingers, one that’s close to the bandage on her neck, and absently playing with it, running it through his fingers, he studies the woman who’s so comfortable and content and relaxed and happy on top of him that she seems to belong there ( that’s a vision for sore eyes, not her completely dressed standing in front of his couch) while he lazily skims over her back with a fingertip from his free hand.

“You’re thinking so loud that I can hear you even if I’m not a psych” he breaks the silence, and it’s a quite stupid statement, he knows it, but it’s the only thing that come to his mind. That’s how he has always acted after all. When it is uncomfortable or important, he says stupid things- just like now. He knows that the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, to be honest, he has never been in the middle of a more wonderful sound, but he knew, he still does, that whatever was, is, on her mind, is important ad serious, and could define them from now on. “Ehy, what’s on your mind?”

She stills her movements, and looks into his blue eyes, her chin resting on one elbow. “I wasn’t really scared. I kept breathing in and out repeating that you’d saved me, that you were going to find a way to save me, as always. I kept remembering all the times you did save me, and…I just thought, Jane is going to save me, he’ll find a way, he’ll never use me just to get to Red John, because he isn’t that way. And you did. You stilled him, you bought us both time.” Something passes in his eyes, and Lisbon has to do her best to not laugh, because this is serious, and she doesn’t feel like breaking the mood, but, still, she sees it. Patrick Jane is surprised because she just admitted something that he never, ever envisioned, not even in his wildest dreams. “Oh, c’mon, like I’ve never said out loud I trusted you! I think you had realized, by now, Mr. Jane” she says pointing out each word while patting his chest with a fingertip “that if I didn’t trust you, you’d never been around my team for so long!”

“Ouch, and here I thought it was because of my charm and my look!”

“Oh, those are a bonus, and only mine to take, so better be careful, because I tend to be a bit selfish when it comes to relationships…” she smiles as she says so, with the same light he has seen few hours before, when he started to undress her. They share a kiss, short but tender and loving, and when they part, Teresa once again is looking into his eyes. “Well, actually, there’s something else I was thinking about….and I’m not talking about the fact that I just did something highly unprofessional even if allowed, with my civilian consultant in our work place…”

“Ok, look, look, look… unprofessional but allowed… someone here was so crazy for me that felt the need to check the CBI rulebook at the boss/civilian consultant relationships section… you know, I’d try to guess when you actually did it, woman, but right now there are other things running through my mind….like, for example, what those other things you are thinking about may be!” Reading a malicious tone into her affirmation, Jane once again leans into her, ready to goes under the cover or to remove the cover to mark the woman as his own once again, but with a movement of her hand, Lisbon, looking at him a bit angry, she stills his movements.

“Not so fast, Romeo. Juliet here” she says, sitting in front of him, not giving a damn about the fact that she is naked. He knows that the only reason she is crossing her arms over her chest is because of the rage and not because she’d like to cover herself out of modesty. “should get dressed, since there’s a good chance that LaRoche and Hightower would walk on us having again sex.”

“Ok, first, we made  love, Lisbon dear, not had mere sex. Honestly, I think I’m one of the few men of the planet that can say they never had sex in their lives but made tender love to women who are beautiful inside out and that they love with a passion.” Jane pauses, half-sitting, the blanket covering him from his waist down, and it should be comical, but it’s not, and Teresa is on the verge of tears, because she sees it- he is saying the truth. She has knew for a while that he and Angela met as teenagers, and that their story had been the first and only for the both of them until that day, and she knew that Jane never gave up to lust during his quest for revenge, but what he is telling her right now… as much as he has already spoke the words more than once during the night…it’s like he is telling them for the first time, or like, for the first time, they have a meaning. “Second, isn’t our not so much beloved former boss supposed to be a wanted felon?”

“And didn’t this demented idiot of a consultant thought that if he’d be gone missing yet another time I’d come here looking for clues and eventually found those small, black, filled with Red John related info and assumptions notebooks of his?” she almost hisses, looking not slightly amused. “Because, Jane, I did. And I read them, all of them, every single one of those damn, crazy notebooks, word by word. And, thanks to said notebooks, to the info we found in Red John’s alcove and the few things we got from Bertram’s confessions before he got killed, LaRoche is in the process of clearing Hightower’s name, and even if I doubt she’ll ever come back to the CBI, because, in her position, I’d never came back, she is currently on a plane, escorted by the police, returning safely back here.”

He doesn’t answer, nor try to defend himself or to object to her speech, so Lisbon goes on, always with the same tone. “Yeah, stunning, I know. Anyway, I’ve been the one finding her and giving her the news, and guess what come out while we were talking about the more and the less? She confessed me that, while you helped her escape, making us believe she was one of Red John’s friends and making me doubts my ability to understand the people around me, well, she told me she actually begged you to tell me what you were up to! And she told me you refused. Now, at first, I was mad, because, c’mon, I showed time over time complete trust in you risking not only my career but my life as well, but you refuse to share such details about the case with me? Then, I thought, of course, he wants to kill Red John, it’s obvious he wants to get in our way since he wants to get to him first! Of course he’d hide things from me!” she pauses, and Jane tries to say something, but she stops him once again, stilling him once again with a movement of her tiny hand, and her whole demeanor changes. Her tone is lower, softer, her eyes are teary but not because of unhappiness, and she seems, yet again, prone to accept his affection. “but then… while I talked with her…actually talked with her, I mean,  I realized that at the end the only reason you did it was because you wanted to protect the team… and… me… from him. so, I have to say, it has been rather sweet and romantic, stupid nevertheless, but sweet and romantic in your own stupid, idiotic and crazy kind of way.”

Jane looks at her, confused, and Lisbon has to put on her best poker face to hide the amusement at the sight of the lifted eyebrows. “Ok, so… am I forgiven or not? Because I’m rather confused and in this position, it seems that my uncanny ability to read people is failing me…”

“Let’s say that, on behalf of the fact that you weren’t only running after mere revenge but actually trying to protect those you care about, there’s a good chance that you’ll eventually be forgiven” she is still serious and a bit annoyed, but, still, can’t help but smiling. After all, who ever thought this possible? Red John’s dead, Jan’s alive and free, and they are together-kind of, at least. “By the way, the answer is yes.” She leans again on him, for the last time, giving him a quick kiss, leaving him more perplex than before, and she is starting to question if this is happening for real, because never before has Jane acted in such a way. Of course, never before Jane has made love to a woman - her!- on his makeshift bed in the attic, so…

She laughs as she gets dressed, and she turns to look at him one last time only when she is already at the door. Jane hasn’t switched position yet. He is still half-sitting on the bed, covered by the blanket from the waist down, completely naked and definitely questioning her words- his lifted eyebrows are  proof enough for her. “Yes Jane, I’d like to join you to dinner tomorrow evening in that nice restaurant in the valley where we once went while investigating a case. And, I’m telling you, I’ll not mind if you’ll call it a date, or you’ll ask for the terrace because it’s more romantic, and I’ll definitely don’t mind if you’ll feel the sophomoric need to seduce me over a meal…that is, if I’ll not feel such a need first as soon as you’ll ring my doorbell.”

They both smile as she leaves, and for the first time in his life, Patrick Jane contemplates the idea that psychs may actually exists, because that were exactly the words he was going to tell her- minus the seduction thing, though. After all, they are already consumed their relationship.

fanfiction, jane, lisbon, season 3 spoilers, one-shot, jisbon, m rated, the mentalist

Previous post Next post
Up