Title: Tides of time
Words: ~2810
Rating: T
Genre: Hurt/comfort; romance
Characters: Patrick Jane; Teresa Lisbon
Summary: It was late and she was all alone at the office, because they all had lives, but her. She desperately wanted to change things, but she did not know if she was strong enough, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, and she was not sure if she could really part ways with Jane. Even if her life had stopped ten years priors. Speculations on 5.13
Disclaimer: Uhm. well, my father is called Bruno, but since it's Negro and not Heller, I'd say tha t I don't own the rights to the Mentalist.
A/N: this story took a mind of its own. And here I just wanted to write a bit of smut... well, guess what? One of the cleanest things I ever had written...
It was late, everybody was already gone. Got home as soon as their hours had ended, to live their lives, to see their beloved. Because, Lisbon thought melancholy as she sat in the semi darkness of her office, they could afford something like that. They had their lives.
She did not.
It was well past midnight, her tenth anniversary had finished. Another year had gone, passed just like that, and what had she accomplished? Yes, she had arrested Volker, and the thought was exiting and it made her kind of proud, but she was not any closer to catch Red John, and besides, sometimes it looked like the more murderers they caught, the more were committing the crime... more murders, more work for her. More work, less life outside the job.
Not that it really mattered, Lisbon thought grunting. It was not like she did have a life outside the job. Her brothers were all back in Chicago once again -Tommy included- and she did not have a family of her own. No children, and that she could live with, it was hard to accept that her ship had sailed long ago, but it was something she could live with. But... it bothered her that she did not have a man at her side. No husband, no boyfriend, no lover. she was well alone.
How much did it say of her that the guy the guys had "rented" to play the victim had been the first one she had kissed in almost a year? She had never really bothered giving Mancini a chance- the guy was an ass full of himself if he believed that she was crazy for him because she could not stand him - and with Kirkland... she had tried, she had really, really tried. She was even interested in the man, but it had not worked. When, after a kind of date, he had approached her to give her the good-night kiss, she had turned her head so that his lips could land on her cheek instead of her lips.
The poor man had been disappointed, and she was as well. She had really wanted to make it work, but when she had seen him approaching, it had suddenly felt it was wrong.
Dark hair instead of blonde curls. Chocolate brown eyes instead of sea green. Olive skin instead of naturally tanned one. Government-issued pristine suits in black and white shirts, instead of old 3 pieces ones.
In short: Kirkland was no Patrick Jane.
She had met Jane a couple of years after she had joined the CBI, and until he did not go all "you are sweet" on her while he was leaving the CBI, her life had been kind of all right. Maybe she did not fall in love, as that part of her was already taken by the man with the mischievous grin, but she was at least still able to have sex. After those words, and mostly, after the "I love you, Teresa" muttered while fake-shooting her... well, things had been different.
And maybe... it was time to change. Accept life. Move on.
She had known Jane for over eight years now, and besides those words, he had never shown any interest in her. Mostly, he was interested in women when he could use them to get to his aim, Red John or another killer. He liked them dangerous, like Flynn, he liked them soft, feminine, daring and sexy, like Lorelai, beautiful, with money and slick, like Frey.
He liked them, but he did not love them. His heart still belonged to his wife, and in his eyes, he still was a married man, evidence enough was the ring he still wore on his left hand after almost ten years.
He liked those women. Loved his (late) wife. Felt nothing for her. He probably did not even consider her a friend, maybe she was just a pawn in his endless chess-game with Red John. She sighed, resigned. It was time to accept the truth. And maybe, move on.
Few months ago, during his six months stunt, she had been approached by government agency, with the proposal of a new job. Better position, better money, less hours. But... No Patrick Jane. Back then, it had not felt right, but maybe she still could rethink the whole thing. Why staying at his side, just to suffer? She wanted to have at least an excuse of a life, but right now she barely existed, and all because of him. Maybe putting some distance between them was the right thing to do. Maybe it was the only way to get rid of her crush for him. Or maybe...
No, she knew the truth. She was too much into deep, loved him too much, for the feeling just to disappear. But at least, she could lessen her own sufferance. Staying away from him was going to hurt, but was not she hurting already, being so close and yet being used, being abandoned, not being seen by a man who did not even consider her like a sister?
Yes, she decided. She was going to do it, the hell with the consequences. With Patrick Jane. She was going to stop wasting her time for a man who could not even pretend to be grateful that she was making huge efforts for him. Damn him. First thing the following morning, she was going to call and say that she accepted the job. Damn him. He was going to regret it. He was going to finally miss her, and he would finally understand how she felt during those awful six months. Damn him.
Damn him, and damn herself, for she knew she was just saying lie after lie. She could not do such a thing. Could not give him her back, abandon him. He was too much part of her life, he was too important. Patrick Jane's existence had swallowed her whole life, and now she could not... there was nothing she could do. She could not live, abandon him, going on without knowing what he was up to, if he was safe. Vegas had showed her as much, that she could not live if he was not at her side, not matter how, and besides... if she was not going to be there to help him out of troubles, who was going to save him? Not Rigsby, too scared of losing his job, especially now that he was a father, too respectful of the rules. Not Grace, too shy and young and naive, and not Cho. Cho, even as a boss, would soon got tired of Jane's stunts.
She needed him, and in some kind of weird, twisted way, he needed her too, not like she did, but yet... it was better than nothing.
Right?
She grabbed the metal plate the director had (reluctantly) giver her for her ten years of service, and she threw it against the glass of one of her awards, forceful, clenching her teeth as she felt the bile rising up in her throat. It just was not right. Her life could not be just that, awards and meetings and killers. She was good at her job. She helped people out. She made sure they could get closure, and that was her reward? Why could she not have a man who loved her? She deserved it, damn it to hell, she did... and yet...
it was the only thing she wanted, and yet, she was also the only thing she could not have, no matter what. Not when said man was Patrick Jane.
The glass of the framed award broke for the impact with the heavy plate, and everything fell on the ground. The sound, though, did not awake her from her reverie, but spurred furthermore, it just increased her rage, her desperation.
Emitting sounds like a wounded, rabid animal, Teresa threw herself against the wall where all her life was collected, and started to hit and threw on the floor everything... pictures, framed articles from newspapers, awards, dedications, plates... everything ended up on the ground, and when the wall was bare, as bare as her existence outside the office, she collapsed on the cold pavement, and crying desperate, she started to hit with her bare fists the memories. Splinters of glass penetrated her skin, into her flesh, and warm, dark blood soon soaked her clothes, and yet... she felt nothing. Just rage, as she had never felt before.
Herself, because she had allowed herself to end up that way. Her family, because, one by one, one way or another, they had all abandoned her. The world, her job, because they had consumed her. Red John, because it was all his fault if she had met Jane... and Jane. Jane, who did not see her. Jane who was obsessed, but never, ever over her. Jane who used and abandoned her. Jane who knew, because he was Patrick Jane so he had to know, about her feelings, and yet, he did not care about them. Jane who slept with another woman, and then told her he loved her just to forget all about it.
Jane, whom she could not help but love with all of her, despite all of this.
Life was not fair.
She collapsed in a ball on the ground, crying like she had never done before, finally allowing the tears to break free, and when she went to hit once again to broken glass right before her, her fists already in the air, she felt something -or better yet, someone- holding her back. She struggled to break free, but he just held her tighter, her back against his chest. She could not see his face, and he was not saying a single word, but she did not need any of that to know who he was.
His scent, his rich, and yet delicate, aftershave was unmistakable, like the feel of the rough wool of his suit against her. She did not need to see or hear Patrick Jane to know where he was, that was how she was wired nowadays. It was her curse. And all because she had made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong man.
"Teresa, please... stop this." he begged with low voice, nuzzling her dark hair, holding her in his arms with such a strength he was hurting her. Pain is good, she thought. At least she could still feel something, and yet... only with him. She had not noticed the broken glass scarring her, and yet, she could feel him. All because it was Jane, and Jane...
It was time to stop kidding herself. There was no turning back after a woman fell in love with him. No one else could do. He was the sole owner of her, mind, body and soul. And yet, she knew that there was no way she could have him, never, ever.
It was not fair. Her life was not fair. He was not fair.
"Let me be... why can you not let me be?" She begged, trying to break free, but to no avail. The more she struggled, the stronger, tighter he held her, engulfing her with his warmth, his scent, his whispered words of affection, his whole persona.
They kept fighting, and she kept asking the same question again and again, until she screamed it, at the top of her lugs, and suddenly, stopped. She stood still and motionless, like her life, like her love, and only then he let it go of her, and moved to be before Lisbon.
He cupped her face, and went closer to her, closer and closer. Their lips were just a breath apart, and he was looking into her eyes, with something she had never seen before. They were pure and free, they were scared and desperate, they were mad and full of affection, they were tentative and honest.
They were him, all of him, Patrick Jane, with no mask.
"Because I remember every word, Teresa, and because I meant them. I still do" he said, his thumbs skimming over her lips, as his eyes were getting teary and the breath died in her throat. "Because I love you."
She did not wait for him to add anything, nor she spoke, she simply erased the distance between them, capturing his lips with her own. His sincerity-because she knew, felt he was telling her truth, for once- spurred her furthermore, made her kind of malicious. There was nothing tender, shy, slow about this kiss, it was just ignited passion. Her lips on his own were possessive, angry and hungry, demanding. She licked his lower lip, skimming it with the tip of her tongue, until he gave her access, and she probed inside his hot mouth, tasting warmth and tea and just Jane, allowing him to do the same. He was very sweet- probably honey? and kind of... she did not know how to say it. She knew only that it made her want to go all the nine yards with him, right then and there.
And if his moans of pleasure were any indications... he kind of agreed with her.
She giggled against his mouth, and he grinned. Her hands took possession of his curls, exploring the soft texture, enjoying the feeling against her skin, and brought him impossibly closer to her. He was not shy either, cupping every inch of her he had wished to touch, tasting her with his open mouthed kisses, and enjoying the touch. She was skinny, but curvy where needed. He enjoyed tremendously making her gasp as he skimmed her nipples with his thumbs over the fabric of her clothes, and he grunted when she giggled, when, after having mapped her whole body with his hands, he grabbed her ass. He took her in his lap, and pushed her against his arousal, and she gladly rode his clothed body with abandon, pushing back to increase the sensations for the man underneath her. She grabbed his face, and while he kept kissing her at closed eyes, he felt something liquid and warm running over his skin, and stilled, remembering why he had grabbed her in the first place.
He parted, and took her hands in his owns, guiding her towards the couch. He made her sit there, and she agreed, she didn't say a single word but followed his silent orders, like she knew he hadn't parted from her because he was regretting the kisses and touches, but simply because he wanted to be the one taking care of her, for once.
He retrieved from her desk a first aid kit, and once back to her, he started, slowly, reverently, undressing, until she was before him in just her underwear.
Suddenly, she felt shy and ashamed. She was nothing like the ethereal women he had always liked, for sure, and she was not feminine even in her underwear. She did not wear bright colors or romantic ones, nor lace, silk and ribbons. She had only sports bra and practical cotton, black and white.
She felt like crying, because there was no way he was really attract by her, right? He just could not. She had just kid herself once again.
Jane, though, sensed her uneasiness, and in silence, he caressed her skin, sweetly, he cleaned up her wounds, kissing each one of them. he made his way back to her lips, kiss after kiss, and when their mouths were slowly and sensually invading each other yet again, he took her hands in his owns, and guided them across his body.
He made her feel his erratic heartbeat, beating that way because of her. He made her feel his uneasy breathing, convulsed because of her. He made her feel his sweat, the tears on his face, because of her. He made her feel his firm arousal, there just because of her. For her.
"What makes you beautiful it is not the dresses or the sexy underwear-although expect something like that as gift in the future- but... the fact that it is you. That you took me in, that you turned me into a better me. That you accepted me even when I was at my lowest. That is why you are the woman I need at my side. Because you are beautiful, inside and out." He told her, dreamily. He smiled at her, and she yet again broke the distance between them, kissing her. It was gentle and sweet, a promise of love, a declaration.
She nuzzled her hair once again, breathing in her very essence, cinnamon, lemon, vanilla and Lisbon, and took her in his arms, lowering her on the couch.
Spooning, he held her the whole night, as strongly and tightly as he could, so that she could remember.
He was hers. And she had not wasted her time.